Tempus
by silvergryphon06
Summary: To be outside of time has always been thought as being beyond understanding, to be as remote and incomprehensible as the stars themselves. They have been unknowable, untouchable. But now forces are being set into motion. The lid has been torn off a two thousand year old secret, and only a man who has lived outside of time can hope to unravel enough of the past to save the future.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **_**Hello all! This is a republishing and heavily re-edited version of my previous story Heart of Dust. This story is set between the events of The Avengers and The Winter Soldier, and will eventually build up to and possibly continue through the second film. There may be some cameo appearances by other members of the Avengers, but I ****think that it still needs to go in the Cap archive. I would love to hear your thoughts! :D  
**

**As always, read and enjoy :)**_**  
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* * *

Captain Steve Rogers prided himself on being prepared for nearly any situation. In the year that followed Loki's attack on the Earth, he had allowed Stark, among others, to introduce him, in varying degrees, to this new, modern world he had woken up in. He had to admit, jeans were a helluva lot more comfortable now than they had been.

When Nick Fury called him in that morning, however, he really didn't know what to think. He knew that if he was being summoned, nothing good could be happening. Bucky would have accused him of being a pessimist and frankly, he wouldn't have argued with him. Seventy years trapped in ice and missing your first date with the woman of your dreams would do that to a man.

Steve strode through the sliding door of a spacious conference room, somewhere deep underground in the SHIELD building situated in the heart of DC. His boots fell heavily against the nondescript carpet. He wasn't certain where exactly underground they were; not even a hero was privy to every piece of information. Out of habit, he took stock of the room. It was sparsely furnished, a large, well-polished table in the center with black leather office chairs arranged around it. Besides the screen on the far wall, and the small consoles at each chair, that was it. No windows, no glass, no potted plants; aside from the barrenness, it could have been mistaken for an office in any building in the city. Well, besides the fact that it was underground, and the director of SHIELD was sitting at its head in all of his brooding, leather glory.

Fury's hands were steepled in front of him as he leaned back in his chair, his face as impassive as always. His good eye met the Captain's silent stare evenly, shifting a finger to point at a nearby chair to his right.

"Have a seat, Cap."

Steve shrugged off his brown leather jacket before he folded his tall frame into the small leather chair, linking his fingers together over the button-down, blue plaid shirt that covered his muscled stomach and leaning back slightly. He didn't bother to ask why he was here. Fury would either tell him or he wouldn't, but either way, he had no doubt that it was some sort of detail that SHIELD needed performed quickly and quietly. After all, he thought, sore, what else was he these days other than a glorified janitor for the organization?

Silently, Fury slid a file across the expanse of the table, the word **Boudicca** emblazoned across the front flap. Steve was silently relieved that it was paper he was being handed. The technology these days was amazing, and efficient, but nothing felt so good as honest to God paper in his hands. It was real and solid, and swiftly becoming nostalgic. Maybe he was getting as old as everyone seemed to think of him as. He shrugged the thought off as he opened the manilla folder.

He scanned over the neatly typed pages, a frown pulling at his lips. Pictures of a massive dig site were carefully dispersed midst the report, which was frankly less than informative. It said nothing about SHIELD per se, and at first glance, it seemed like an academically funded project. At least, unless your eye caught on the tech they were using in some of the photos. He didn't know much a whole lot about the advances made while he was in the ice, but he doubted much had changed in the way of university funding; there was no way they could afford equipment like that. And while it might be common practice to have guards stationed around the dig to scare away potential looters, the men he could see were clearly well-trained, their sidearms gleaming even in the washed-out colors of the printed pictures. Not the typical locals someone might hire.

Since when was SHIELD interested in archeology? More than likely, whatever they'd dug up, it was either for a specific purpose or someone else had stumbled across it. Either scenario was in the realm of possibility. And, if Fury had sent for him, this 'archaeological find' was probably related to him in some way, though what that could be, he wasn't certain. Maybe it was another HYDRA weapon?

"So," he said, closing the file and tossing it next the the screen in front of him. "what's this got to do with me? Your people disturb ol' Boris from his sleep and he cursed you?"

His tone was dry, but the thought had crossed Steve's mind that that might be the case. Considering what had happened in New York last year, he was willing to believe damned near anything. When Fury remained silent for another moment, Steve seriously began to entertain the idea. Finally, the director pressed his finger to the sleek console at his fingertip, a series of quiet beeps echoing his motions. A screen lit up in front of him and the soldier started. Damn, he was never going to get used to that. The director made a sweeping motion with his hand and suddenly the wall behind him glowed.

Steve glanced down with a mild scowl. He had barely gotten the hang of a typewriter before he enlisted, and he was expected to just master the mysteries of this weird, florescent text just hovering in the air? Clumsily, he slid a large finger across the screen, the furrow of his brow deepening when nothing happened. Catching his movement out of the corner of his eye, Fury casually leaned over, tapped at the console and it shifted.

Then he straightened and stood, turning to the wall that had been illuminated, tugging at a single photograph and creating a 3D model, which he tossed to the center of the table.

"This, is Project Boudicca and it's why you're here."

Steve looked at the image curiously. It looked like a great stone box, and what he thought might be letters in a language he didn't recognize running across its rugged and chipped surface. Tilting his head, Steve squinted, trying to make out the words. Fury was a step ahead of him, however, fiddling with the model before making an expanding gesture. The script was pulled forward and up, mirroring his motions, floating gently above the box's surface. With a swipe of his finger, he made the assumed letters larger and easier to read. With a final touch, he lifted a tiny device from his pocket and held it in front of the display. It made a whirling noise, followed by more beeping. The director brought the new image out of the small piece of technology and placed it over the other symbols. They morphed into the alphabet that Steve recognized easily, though the language was still indecipherable, in his opinion.

**Tá mé an glór an domhain. Tá mé an t-amhrán de na crainn. Tá mé an deannaigh go bhfuil dearmad am.**

Steve read the words carefully, slowly, but they meant nothing to him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's Irish Gaelic, or some older form of it. We had it translated. Loosely, we think it says, 'I am the voice of the earth. I am the song in the trees. I am the dust that time has forgotten'."

Steve let out a snort.

"Poetic."

Fury didn't comment, instead motioning to the box that loomed just behind the text.

"Look closely at that box, Steve. What does it look like to you?"

Steve let his eyes wander over the structure. Feeling a bit more secure after watching Fury carefully, he lifted his hand and made a spinning motion, causing the image to rotate. He did some estimations in his head, trying to figure out what a large container like that could hold.

"It's a coffin," he realized.

"Exactly."

Fury began to pace the room, slowly circling the table and its occupant.

"Are you familiar with the excavation at Sutton Hoo, in Suffolk, England?"

Steve shook his head.

"Sorry. I might _be _living history, but it never was my strongest subject." There was only the faintest trace of ironic humor in his tone.

"In a nutshell, it was a site discovered by a farmer in his field almost twenty years ago. There were a lot of artifacts discovered out there, along with some pretty astonishing leaps made in piecing together more information about the Celts that lived in the area, around the fourth, fifth century."

As Fury spoke, images superimposed themselves over the coffin, showing aerial photos of a dig site even larger than the one he'd just looked at. The director continued.

"We, meaning humanity, know very little about that civilization and the artifacts that were found shed some light on a very dark part of our history. But, as most things go, we still have questions."

"Don't you always?" Again, a faint tinge of sarcasm colored his voice.

"I've found it to be a useful practice," Fury replied calmly before continuing, his hand trailing the back of an empty chair, "The history books argue on a number of points regarding that time period. There are few written accounts and those are most definitely questionable. The one thing that we can determine is a fact is that there's no one reliable source of information that has ever been found to date. Until now."

Fury gestured to the floating stone casket before minimizing it completely and pulling forward a digital map. Photographs began to flash more clearly as he shifted his hand.

"Two months ago, a group of graduate students and their professor stumbled across a sunken chamber in the county of Somerset, England, near Glastonbury."

Steve bit his cheek to keep from making another comment, and instead focused his attention forward. A shot of three grinning young people waved at the camera while a white-haired man with a full beard stood behind them with a wide smile. They were standing in front of a large, oblong green hill. Just behind them, Steve could make out what looked to be a gaping hole that had been torn into the base of it. The next picture was a close up, revealing an ancient looking set of steps that steadily, if unevenly, marched down into darkness.

"There are a number of legends, myths, that pervade the area and have for centuries," Fury continued, gesturing, "Most have been discounted as just that, myths, and little evidence has ever supported even the most probable of theories. Of course, we've learned a bit about dismissing the unknown or unseen as nonexistent. But this discovery held the potential to perhaps alter the more common, global view, at least up until Loki's attack on New York."

Steve interrupted then.

"If nothing else, that sarcophagus is proof that these Celts had an alphabet, perhaps even the first one created after the Latin the Romans developed and used." Fury lifted a brow and Steve flushed. "I said it wasn't my strongest subject. Doesn't mean I don't know anything about it, or about the fact that a discovery like that would have had at least a small segment in the news."

The director only offered a small shake of his head.

"That wouldn't have been the wisest idea."

He flicked at the display and Steve had to fight his instinct to look away.

A chamber was dimly illuminated in a soft green glow, dank-looking, darkly pigmented walls stained with what could only be blood. Body parts were scattered on the floor, flesh and fabric still clinging to the remnants of what had once been people. He recognized the older man, his neck severed from the rest of him, bland, fish like eyes staring up at nothing, his features forever frozen in an expression of awful surprise. In the center of it all was the coffin, its surface glimmering and even from just a still, Steve could sense power.

Fury turned off the images, returning the box to its former position.

"This artifact that these unfortunate people found was shielded by some kind of energy, unlike anything we've ever encountered. We managed to recover it, but so far, our attempts to open it haven't been very successful. The force field around the casket may be sentient, or it may just be some kind of ancient technology programmed to attack when it perceives a threat. We're not sure. So we sealed it in one of our most secure vaults, until such time that we could try again. However, last week, it began to behave...strangely."

Steve glanced over, his forefinger and thumb resting against his chin.

"What do you mean?"

The director swiped his hand and a video popped up on the wall. The footage was shaky and a little blurry, but Steve could make out that someone, no, several someones, were navigating their way through a maze of crates and covered objects. The sound was scratchy, suggesting the video was definitely low quality, but he could still hear a low humming noise. A man's voice came through, clearly asking a question, but he couldn't make out the words. The figure in front of him shook his head and waved his hand, signaling to move forward. The humming got louder and Steve focused his attention on one corner of the screen. He pointed.

"There, to the left. It's that same glow."

Sure enough, the figures rounded a corner, light escaping from tiny cracks in a large steel container. A surge of some type of energy crackled and danced over the metal surface, illuminating the letters:

SHIELD DANGER

Feeling apprehensive, he made himself watch, looking for clues or hints that might reveal the nature of the thing that the archaeologists uncovered. Another surge flashed as one man apparently got too close. It flickered and struck out like a bolt of lightning, bursting through the unlucky operative's chest in a shower of blood and gore. It lashed again, like a whip that coiled and flailed, striking another man whose scream reverberated in the dead silence of the conference room. There was a gasp, followed by a whimpering sound as the energy sizzled again, drawing in on itself, the cameraman backing away before dropping the recorder and obviously running for his life. Steve doubted that he made it because there was another scream just before the video blacked out.

"We lost four good men," Fury said in a quiet tone that Steve resented mightily. He wanted to ask about the first three victims, why SHIELD hadn't protected them, but he held his tongue, listening. "The box was moved after that and brought here for study. Now, that's where you come in."

He turned to regard each of them with his good eye, his voice hard as galvanized steel.

"I would greatly appreciate if you were present while we take a closer look at this thing."

Steve leaned back, re knitting his fingers together.

"To find out why it killed your men or to find out how?"

Maybe he'd been out of the service too long, asking a question like that, but then, he'd never really been one for _blindly_ following orders. His association with SHIELD had made him even less prone. After finding those weapons on the helicarrier, he wouldn't put it past them to try and weaponize this thing, whatever it was. The director gave him a speculative glance before narrowing his gaze.

"Because when we open this thing up, I want to be damned sure we aren't losing any more people."

Well that wasn't evasive at all.

* * *

So Steve found himself standing beside a diminutive doctor in a well-shielded, very secluded laboratory deep underground, well beneath even the main base. Another scientist was in the other room, beyond a thick pane of bulletproof glass, and was circling the sarcophagus, search lights bright as they focused on the sarcophagus, illuminating the weathered rock. Hooking his thumbs in the loops of his belt, Steve let his gaze move between the two scientists, feeling absolutely useless. Screens beeped, machines whirled and hummed around him, and the other members of the team might as well have been speaking in the tongue carved into the white stone they were examining.

"Sandstone composition is average, nothing unusual there," the second man's voice came over the speaker, his tone thoughtful, "No strange alloys present that I can detect."

"What about the energy field?" the first scientist asked.

"From what I can gather, it's not extraterrestrial and it's not magnetic, although the charge readings are off the charts. Hmmm...whatever is surrounding this thing is powerful, but I'm more concerned with why it isn't attacking me standing so close to it."

"Good question," Steve commented, trying to get a foot in on the conversation, "Maybe it's an entity of some sort?"

"If it was, don't you think it would have responded by now?" the doctor asked.

"That wasn't a response when it fried those guys?" he countered, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tightened his grip on his jeans.

No one answered him and he found himself silently grinding his teeth. These two had been stonewalling him for the last hour. They obviously knew more than he did about the project, and normally, that might not have bothered him. But suspicions were niggling at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right. Hell, nothing was right, and everything about it went against what he'd been trained. Either everyone was on the same page or somebody got killed. You couldn't protect your buddy's back if your head was somewhere else.

The man in the other room spoke up and interrupted his thoughts.

"I have a theory that it's something else. It's like a motion sensing barrier, or, more precisely, an intention sensing barrier."

"That still suggests sentience."

"Not really. A field made of relatively dormant psionic energy isn't that far-fetched these days, now is it?"

Steve scowled, but kept his mouth shut; no point in mentioning that they were acting like he wasn't even there. Frankly, he almost agreed with them that he had no place here too. He didn't know if there was anything he could do if the box started up again, not stuck here and denied access to it. He was about as useful as a bump on a damned log, but the thought of what SHIELD wanted to do with this thing made him stay. Biting back a sigh, he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet. Jesus, working with these people were starting to color his thinking in ways he didn't want to admit. Or maybe it was the fact that he was so out of his own time. Either way, long-term had never been much of a consideration before.

He watched with detachment as the scientist lifted an arm, the telltale blue light of a scanning device blinking as he slowly swiveled his torso back and forth. Nothing happened and the man dared to take a step closer.

The box remained dull and lifeless. His machine in his hand began a rapid blinking.

"What's he doing?" Steve asked the shorter man at his side, lifting his chin to gesture at the glass.

His companion tapped the screen in front of him with a blunt finger.

"He's performing an X-ray."

"Holy mother of-"

"What? what?" Steve asked quickly, leaning over the doctor's shoulder as the other man's eyes widened in tandem with the second scientist's cut-off curse.

"There's-there's something inside the sarcophagus," the first one murmured, his fingers skimming over the keys in front of him.

With a flick of his wrist, he brought up another display, pointing at a large bluish blob.

"Right there, can you see it?"

Steve shook his head.

"Looks like a splotch to me, Doc."

He manipulated the image, expanding portions, trying to clean up the picture. Even after several heartbeats, it still looked like little more than a giant blob of lighter color than the stone encasing it. A startled grunt distracted him however and he jerked his head up. The other man was backing away from the coffin as it let out a low, steady humming sound.

"What the hell?"

"Get out of there!" Steve barked.

Before either of the other two men could reply, the ornately carved lid of the coffin began to move, a grinding sound echoing the hum of what Steve could only assume was the energy shield deactivating. Slowly, the crack on the top of the casket widened and the Captain could see that same greenish glow softly flickering inside. But he felt frozen; his limbs didn't want to move. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the ever expanding gap. Finally, the lid slid off, falling to the concrete floor with a loud crash.

The interior of the box darkened as its cover fell away, only revealing a deep, gloomy-looking interior. The scientist in the room with it waited for several breaths before he started to approach again, his voice soft.

"The energy signature is gone. It's just a box now, but I'm getting readings that there's something with a pulse in there."

That made Steve feel even more on edge when he noticed movement coming from the sarcophagus.

"Can you tell what it is?" he asked quietly.

"It seems...human."

The man's steps brought him to the edge of the coffin and he peered inside, the bulbs over the helmet's eyes lighting the interior of the casket.

"It's a body. Not moving and wrapped in a burial shroud, I think. Wait-"

He leaned closer and Steve strove to be able to see, waiting as the tension tightened in his gut.

"Let me see if I can-"

He didn't finish the sentence, carefully reaching inside and gently unwrapping the cloth where the head would be. Steve heard him let out a surprised breath.

"Captain, get a medic, now!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I forgot this little thingie, but, to keep everything nice and friendly, I own nothing! Not mine! (Though if anyone can track me down a cut-out of the Cap in those awesome tights, well...never mind, not going there...*shiver*)**

**Please leave a review at the door, and as always, read and enjoy. :)**

* * *

Steve dashed out of the laboratory, his boots skidding to a stop with a squeak as he spotted Nick Fury and Agent Hill rounding a corner. Two men in white coats trailed behind them and he scowled, several things clicking into place in his head, things that he was decidedly _not_ happy with. As Fury came abreast to him, he jerked his head towards his second-in-command.

"Captain, Agent Hill will escort you to the med bay. We'll be along shortly."

"You knew." It wasn't a question.

Fury didn't answer, just kept walking, which made the soldier's scowl deepen.

Steve fell into step beside the willowy brunette, glowering. They didn't speak and that was just fine with him. She was an attractive woman, but there was a cold hardness to her that just made him wary. Her spine was ramrod straight, her eyes possessing a constant gleam that he perceived as calculating, speculative. Agent Hill was an excellent choice to cover your flank in a fight, but the Captain had a gut feeling that when the blows had all been thrown, it was best to not turn your back to her. She may have been the director's right hand, but he didn't doubt for a moment that she would usurp that balance of power if she deemed it necessary. While he could understand that, might even support it when the day came, he didn't like being unaware of what angle she would be playing. There was no question she was loyal to her country, but how deep did that patriotism run before it hit self-preservation?

Steve rolled his broad shoulders as he kept his stride shortened to match hers. By the time the large doors of what Steve assumed was the base's medical facility, Fury strode through the doors, his trench coat billowing behind him. Flicking a fingertip towards the wall, part of it dissolved, revealing a window into the room just beyond. The men and Agent Hill gathered around the glass.

As Steve's eyes roamed over more beeping, blinking machines, sterile metallic surfaces, his gaze was drawn to the table where the two medics hovered. One shifted, and Steve's eyes widened.

The first thing he noticed was that it was a woman. The second was the tattoos. Sweeping spirals, a brown that stood out vividly against the warm cream color of her skin, twisted and coiled across her cheeks, down her neck and arms. Her face wasn't heart-stoppingly beautiful, but it was pretty, with high cheekbones, full pink lips, and a straight, Romanesque nose. Hair the color of a shot of whiskey cascaded around her shoulders in waves, curling at the ends. His eyes wandered down to where the shroud began and he realized with a slight blush that he had been ogling her like one of those posters outside the dirty movie house. Granted, the other men were pretty much doing the same thing, but still...he'd been raised better.

"She'll wake up in a few moments, Director," a voice crackled from an intercom that he hadn't noticed, "Vital signs are normal, but there does seem to be an unusually high amount of brain wave activity."

"Noted."

There was a heavy silence as the technicians continued to busily swarm around the body, and Steve felt a tightness begin to twist in his gut, making him feel nauseous. They were hooking her up to the machines, needles mercilessly piercing her skin as they took advantage of her unconsciousness, gathering samples of hair and blood. She was an unknown, he could understand that, but there was a suspicion niggling in the back of his mind. Glancing over at Fury, his eyes narrowed. This wasn't precaution, he was dead certain about that, not if he knew SHIELD.

This was about control.

The lack of denial was telling. The deaths of those men, those kids, it only mattered in that they'd possibly found another asset...another weapon.

Steve stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. Now he knew why he'd been called in. It wasn't hard to figure out, even for someone as admittedly thickheaded as him.

Experience. It was one hell of a drill sergeant.

"Let me go in there," Fury glanced over at him and he shrugged, "I can relate to waking up in an unfamiliar world. That's why I'm really here, isn't it?"

Fury stared for several heartbeats, stone faced, then reached over and pressed a button.

"Jenkins, Henderson, get out." He looked back towards Steve. "Keep her calm. Another guest like you is all we need."

Steve glared at the director, ignoring the jab. Guest? he thought bitterly. More like a prisoner until they figured out what other cage was going to suit her.

The men inside didn't even react, just up and left as the large doors swung open. Steve started to step around the others and through the open doorway, but Fury caught his arm. He pressed a small device into his palm.

"Here, this is a language modulator. We don't know if she'll understand English. Put it on your neck, near your throat and it'll calibrate to whatever language she'll be speaking."

Steve stared at him for a long moment, then nodded and turned on his heel.

He passed the two medics with a nod as the doors shut behind them. The woman was still, the only movement that he could see being the rise and fall of her chest and the wavering behind her eyelids. He stepped closer, his hands loose at his sides. Reaching out, he grabbed a chair, turning and straddling it, his arms crossing over the back in a casual pose. The silence that now hung in the air was tense, waiting as if everyone held their breath.

Steve kept his eyes focused on her face, fingering the small device for a moment before he placed it at the base of his throat, just above the collar of his shirt. Her eyelids fluttered and Steve did, in fact, hold his breath as her eyes slowly opened. They were unfocused as she sluggishly blinked. Then, their gaze sharpened as she took a deep breath, hissing it in between clenched teeth. Carefully, she shifted her arms, bracing on her elbows and starting to sit up. She wasn't panicking, so that was a good sign. Steve kept still, knowing better than to make any sudden movements. When she caught sight of him, however, as her head turned in his direction, she froze.

That was when he could see that her eyes were, in fact, a bright, vibrant and silvery shade of green. And when they landed on him, it was as if there was nothing else about her, they were so striking. With an exaggerated slowness, he lifted his hands, palms towards her, the universal signal of being unarmed.

She tilted her head at him, her expression wary, but also curious.

"_áit a__bhfuil mé__?__" _she asked softly, her voice hushed, but lilting in its tone and inflection.

He understood the question, even without the device. It was the same question he had posed when he had woken up the first time after being in the ice. Where the hell am I? Feeling very self-conscious about trusting the little machine. Didn't have much of a choice though.

"_You're safe, for the moment. We're in an underground camp," _the words flowed out of him, like music in the way they were spoken, and it utterly surprised him. That, and the speech patterns were completely foreign. It was as if the little machine at his throat knew that she probably didn't have all of the same words as they did.

Her eyebrows rose and she sat up further, rubbing the back of her head with a grimace. The shroud slipped further down her chest, but Steve valiantly kept his gaze on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before a slender hand lifted to pinch the bridge of her nose. A small groan slipped past her lips.

"_You-ugh-you…speak the language of my people, strange one?"_ she asked, her eyes opening to regard him again, lowering her hand with a scowl. "_Why-why do I feel so stiff?"_

He tapped the small device at his throat.

"_This helps me to speak to you, yes. You've been in that coffin for a long time, so you're probably going to feel like that for a while."_

_"We are underground, you said?" _she asked and he nodded, a motion that she copied. "_That explains why the earth is loud in my ears."_

That confused him but he decided that she could answer that question later.

_ Can you speak any English?"_

She frowned at him, swinging her legs around and letting them dangle over the table.

"English?" she said the word slowly, like it felt thick and heavy in her mouth, distasteful.

He removed the little machine and cleared his throat, offering her a small, friendly smile.

"Yes, can you speak my language? English?"

Her eyes widened, then narrowed suddenly and she snarled at him, scrambling to her feet and dashing around the table, putting it between them. Somehow the shroud still managed to keep itself wrapped around her, but with every movement, it slipped lower. It was barely hugging the the curves of her upper body as it was, exposing more of those strange tattoos, and Steve wasn't sure how he was going to handle it if it fell completely off. Her fists slammed into the metal surface, her eyes flashing and bringing his thoughts slamming back into the current predicament.

"_M__ac tíre__na farraige_!" she hissed at him, bitterly spitting out the words as if they were vile.

"No, no, no- aw, Christ," Steve put the little thing back against his throat, putting his palm against his forehead for a moment, struggling to find the right words. He lifted his eyes to hers, noting that she still wore a mask of barely controlled fury. Her entire body was shaking, whether from anger or fear, he wasn't sure, but he suspected both. It seemed like she was trying to comprehend everything around her, and was swiftly losing ground. She had to be scared out of her mind. He knew he had been and he felt his frustration rolling back a bit. He could empathize with that feeling.

"_Listen to me_, y_ou've been asleep for a very long time," _he tried to keep his voice soft, soothing, "_We found you in that stone coffin. Many, many things have changed since you closed your eyes. More things have occurred since you entered the realm of dreams than I could ever hope to explain," _the manner of speech was still strange to him, but it rolled easily enough off his tongue.

Her fists unclenched, her eyes softening and the features of her face relaxing. Something almost sad flickered in her expression.

"_Then we lost?" _the question was softly spoken, murmured to herself more than to him. She bent her head and took in a shaky breath.

Steve dared to stand up and he watched her head snap back up, watchful, though her eyes held a brightness that he suspected might have been tears.

"_I don't know if your people lost or won," _he told her honestly, "_And I'm not sure that anyone here could tell you."_

She still looked suspicious, but nodded to him, straightening. She tilted her head at him again.

"_Do you know if the dogs from the sea conquered us? Do you know if any of us survived? We are the people of the hills, the bringers of words and the guardians of the trees? Do you know us?" _her eyes did mist this time, her voice shaking a tiny bit, "_Does anyone remember us?"_

It was a desperate question, from someone who already knew the answer and Steve really wished that he could have given her the one that she wanted to hear. He shook his head. He wouldn't be anything else than honest with her. He knew that he had wanted that, even if he hadn't gotten it.

"_I'm sorry, but I don't know and I don't know of anyone who does. Many seasons have come and gone while you slept, too many to count and too many to remember each one." _

The sorrow on her face made his gut tighten unpleasantly again. She lowered her head once more, waves of brown hair falling forward and obscuring her features, her fists held so tightly that her knuckles were white. He let her have a few moments of silence. She probably needed them more than she needed him to say anything else. Unfortunately, this wasn't going to get any easier for her. Finally, she lifted her head again, her eyes red, but clear and nodded to him.

"Here?" she queried and he returned the nod, removing the device again.

"Yes. Do you speak English?" he repeated and she nodded again.

"I know… some …your words," she answered haltingly, a faint accent coloring her voice as she lifted hesitant fingers to her chin, her eyes darting around as if she either hoped to find the words engraved on the walls or she was searching for hidden enemies. Probably both. "Had… learn for…war," she gestured to her ears, "Hear better…than speak."

Keeping his movements deliberate, Steve slipped out of his leather jacket and held it out towards her, stepping just close enough to lay it on the table in front of her. Then he put the small device next to the coat and moved back again. He pointed to it and then to her.

"You might get cold in just that sheet there. Here, and this," he gestured to the little machine, "will help you speak English better. Good trade?"

Her brow furrowed a moment as she took in what he said, then carefully lifted the jacket and swept it around her shoulders. Steve felt his lips twitch at how it seemed to swallow her. She pushed her arms through the sleeves and gave her fingers an experimental wiggle. Finally, she nodded, offering him a tiny, appreciative smile before gingerly picking up the tiny device.

"Magic stone?" she asked, holding it up to get a better look at it and Steve shook his head.

"Not exactly. Put it here," he placed his fingers against the base of his throat. Hesitantly, she mimicked the motion, but stopped just before it touched her skin.

He nodded to her with an encouraging smile.

"Trust me," he told her softly and tried to convey his honesty through his eyes as they bored into hers from across the small table.

He certainly didn't trust anyone when he woke up, but then, he didn't have anyone who could understand what he'd been going through; the racing thoughts, the barely controlled panic, the bewilderment, the bombarding emotions and sensations. At least Fury had the foresight to bring him in for this. Hopefully, she'd take him at his word. Although, he had to admit that he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.

Biting her lip, she let out a breath and held the machine to her throat. Now it was his turn to tilt his head at her.

"My name's Steve Rogers. Can you tell me yours?"

She took a step back, still watching him cagily.

"I was not given a name. I did not earn one," her eyes widened at the words that spilled from her lips, covering her mouth with a hand, her expression one of awe and, amusingly enough, befuddlement. Her accent was still thick, but lyrical and Steve thought she sounded almost British. She looked back up at him accusingly, "You said the stone was not magic."

He shook his head.

"It isn't, at least, here it isn't, though I guess to you it would probably seem that way. Now," he gave her another smile, "if you don't have a name, what do you want to be called?"

She gave him a confused frown.

"I-I cannot receive a name that I have not been given. There is no honor in what is not earned, Steve Rogers."

Steve shook his head at her again.

"Things have changed. You can have whatever name you want here."

Her frown deepened.

"You keep saying here. Where is here? Or," she dropped her gaze, seemingly struggling to find the right words, "When…is here? Exactly how long have I…slept?"

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, before crossing his arms and jerking his head towards the table.

"You might want to sit down for this."

She shook her head, miming his pose and bracing her bare feet, her chin lifting. As she moved, Steve's eyes inadvertently strayed down to see that her legs were long and shapely, peeking through the folds of the shroud, more dark brown swirls ghosting down the curve of her calves to end in curled points on tops of her bare feet. He snapped his gaze back up when she spoke again, barely able to hide the blush.

"I am not a child. I can take whatever news you have for me."

He let out another breath.

"Look, it's a really long story and I think you'd probably feel better if you had some more clothing to put on, don't you? Or at least something to eat? You've got to be hungry."

She held out her arm and tugged at the leather sleeve with her other hand, a confused look on her face.

"Is this not…clothing?" she said the word like it possessed a strange flavor.

He smiled at her and let out a chuckle.

"Well, yeah, I guess, but you're going to need more of it. For your legs. And shoes for your feet. You'll look strange when we leave this place looking like that."

She looked down at her bare feet with a frown.

"Why? Is it very cold where we are going? Where are we going? And why are we going? Will you answer my questions only if I go with you?"

Steve held up his hands with a smile.

"Look, I know you have questions and I'll try to answer them, but I know people who know a lot more than I do about what you want to know." He was giving himself a headache.

She looked at him solemnly.

"You are a fighter, not a healer?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that."

"You did not awaken me, then?"

"No, you woke up on your own."

He rubbed the back of his neck and she watched him with a considerate countenance, like she was absorbing the information and it was not what she had been expecting.

"You are a warrior for your tribe?" she guessed and he thought a moment before nodding.

"I guess that's close enough."

She opened her mouth, to ask something else, he thought but he cut her off, changing the subject.

"You still haven't said what you wanted me to call you."

She closed her lips, lifting her hand again and tapping her chin thoughtfully. Then she shook her head.

"I do not know of a name that I would be worthy of. And the name you have told me is strange...Steve Rogers." She frowned, saying it again as if she were trying to fit it around her tongue. "Steve...Rogers." She looked up at him curiously. "What does it mean?"

Steve just shrugged.

"Names don't exactly have meaning here. You're called whatever your parents decide to name you when you're born."

Now she seemed truly confused and he immediately regretted the explanation. Good grief, where the hell was Stark when he needed him? He was so much better at the conversation thing, especially with women, than Steve had ever been.

"But…how do they know what you will be when you are just a babe?"

"They don't, it's-," he stopped, running a hand through his short brown hair in exasperation, "Look, I said that I know people who would help you understand, so you'll just have to wait for them to explain it to you, alright?"

Hesitantly, she nodded, biting her lip again and he continued, "Alright. Come on, we'll get you something else to wear, something to eat and try to think of something to call you."

He held out his hand to her, hoping she understood the gesture. She stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment, looking as though she was weighing her options. Finally, however, she reached out and placed her hand over his. His fingers gently closed around her smaller ones and he offered her another easy smile. She was as nervous as a newborn colt, the muscles of her hand twitching when he tugged her closer to him.

Struck with a thought, he looked down at her with a sudden boyish grin.

"How about we call you Ellie? You look like an Ellie."

Her forehead wrinkled as she glanced up at him.

"What is an 'Ellie'? And what do they look like?"

He shrugged, still grinning.

"It's just a name that a lot of girls go by. Or they used to. It suits you, I think."

"Ellie," she repeated slowly, frowning again in concentration, "Ellie…Ellie…I like how it sounds," she admitted with a tiny smile.

She tilted her head up at him, her eyes swirling with questions, emotions, and, strangely enough, a tiny flicker of acceptance. That was good, he thought. All the same, he doubted that she was going to handle any of this well. He certainly hadn't.

"I'm glad," he gave her hand a comforting squeeze, letting his more gloomy thoughts go for the moment. He then dropped her hand and beckoned her to follow him, warning,"This isn't going to be easy for you to adjust to. The world is nothing like the one you left, so it's going to be like being a child all over again. You're going to have to relearn everything you thought you knew."

Worrying at her lip with her teeth, she nodded.

"I understand...I will trust you," the rest of that sentence hung silently between them.

_I will trust you until you prove otherwise._

As he guided her towards the large doors, her hands bunching the material of the shroud at her hips so that she wouldn't trip over it, he silently hoped that he was the one proven wrong.

Watching her struggle with the heavy linen, he wasn't very optimistic.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **_**Here's the next chapter everyone! I'll be uploading about once a week, if this break in busyness holds. Cross your fingers! Please let me know what you think! And thank you so much for the favs and follows, they're much appreciated! :)**

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Steve brushed past and held the doors open for her. When she peeked around the corner warily, he fought back the smile that threatened to curve his lips. It wasn't really all that funny, but just watching her in his jacket, peering around the edge of the doorway and looking for the entire world like an inquisitive child tickled him for some reason. Nodding to the others, he stepped around her and held out his hand again. Her strange grey-green eyes cut across to him cautiously, a gaze that he met evenly. With his free hand, he motioned over the three men that were still in the hallway. Agent Hill seemed to have disappeared, not that Steve minded. He seriously doubted the woman's presence would be helpful to Ellie at the moment. He noticed that Fury was trailing behind the two scientists from earlier and he sent the director a questioning glance, but the one-eyed man just shook his head.

As the director and his entourage drew closer, Steve cleared his throat, gesturing first to them, then to Ellie.

"Gentlemen, this is Ellie, she's-"

"It is not my name," she cut him off hastily, her head poking out further around the door, and he quirked an eyebrow at her, which seemed to embarrass her, because she flushed before adding in a mumble, "It is the name that Steve Rogers has given me."

Steve just stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged at the Fury's skeptical glance.

"She looks like an Ellie to me."

The director nodded once and tilted his head, dark eye gleaming speculatively.

"Then it'll do. I'm Nick Fury of SHIELD. I...run this place."

Ellie glanced between him and Steve with a hesitant expression. The captain nodded to her quietly and she slowly stepped around the wall, her fingers digging into the leather cuffs of his jacket. Ellie looked up at the three men silently, her expression one of clear mistrust. The shorter scientist crossed his arms with an oily smirk that Steve found he didn't much care for. And now he was really looking at him studying him in a way he hadn't when they'd been working just a little while ago. His hair was tightly curling, and sandy-colored, long enough to brush against the collar of his stiffly starched white shirt. His nose crooked a little to the left, probably broken at one point, and closely-set brown eyes. He was well-built, but stocky, the lab coat he wore stretched tight across his shoulders.

"What a pretty thing you are," he murmured, eyes roving over her and she stepped closer to Steve, almost ducking behind him. "I'm Dr. Hackett. A pleasure."

Steve scowled at the hungry look he was giving her, pulling his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms.

"Back off, pal, she's not a steak."

The doctor's gaze flickered to him with an expression of mild startlement, as if he'd forgotten the soldier was even standing there, which honestly only pissed him off more. Hackett opened his mouth to make some sort of reply, but Fury silenced him with a sharp glance in his direction. The taller scientist inclined his head then. He wore large glasses over watery green eyes, the thick lenses seeming to completely cover his narrow face. His face was sharp, as was the rest of his lanky frame, seemingly made of all thin bone and angles.

"Dr. Garrant. It's good to see you awake, Ellie." His tone was much more warm and pleasant. Ellie seemed to think so too, because when Steve looked down at her, she was nodding her head back to him.

He peered at her, her body bent sideways to peer from behind his broad shoulder. The top of her head would just barely brush beneath his chin, adding to the childlike illusion she was projecting as she tried to make herself seem smaller than she already was. That would have been a challenge. She really was little, too much so for his liking. His hand had easily swallowed hers when he'd held it. He could've probably wrapped his arms around her twice, she was so skinny. His smile faded. She needed to eat, the sooner the better.

He had been a little surprise when she hadn't asked any questions about their environment. Perhaps she took it for granted that this was what underground looked like? Steve shook away the curious question, deciding he would ask some of his own later. Slowly, he caught the edge of his jacket wrapped around her small frame and, with gentle tugging, brought her from behind him.

"It's alright," he kept his voice low and soothing, his eyes flashing in a silent warning towards Hackett, "They aren't going to bite you."

Ellie looked up at him with a wide-eyed expression.

"You mean they would?"

He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with a free hand.

"No, no, Ellie, that's not what I meant. I-"

"What Steve is trying to say is that he didn't intend for you to take that phrase literally," Fury cut in smoothly.

The tension in her shoulders relaxed somewhat beneath the large jacket.

"I believe I understand your meaning. Forgive me, I am not used to the manner in which you speak. It is very," she paused a moment, as if groping in her mind for the right word, "informal?"

Steve tilted his head towards her, shifting a little away from her so that she wouldn't be so obscured behind his bulk.

"I suppose that's as accurate a summation of the modern English language as you'll ever come across."

Her brows drew together as she digested what he told her, but she finally turned her attention to the one-eyed director.

"You are a chieftain?"

Fury nodded.

"Something like that."

At his words, she inclined her head, her left fist thumping her chest twice. The director seemed to recognize the motion because he shook his head, his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

"We don't stand on ceremony here. I'm not that important of a person anyway." He turned his gaze towards Steve. "Captain, take her to the conference room. I'll have something delivered there shortly. Make a stop at the door just before you get there, I've sent Agent Hill ahead with some clothes for her."

Steve nodded and Ellie murmured her thanks, looking very uncomfortable, and relieved, as they started to move down the hall. As they turned a corner, Ellie leaned closer to him, her voice low, her tone uncertain.

"Steve Rogers, what makes a man a chieftain here?"

His glance was thoughtful.

"I guess that a man comes to be in charge by being capable, a strong leader."

Ellie nodded, her face pensive as they wound through the maze of corridors.

"So, to become a chieftain, a person must show strength? That is all?"

Steve shrugged.

"Well, I'm sure there's more to it than that, but I don't think I'm the person to ask. I'm just a soldier."

Ellie opened her mouth, as if to ask something else, but then seemed to change her mind, instead chewing on her bottom lip for several long moments. Finally, she spoke again.

"Nick Fury is a strong man," she stated, but Steve thought that there might have been an undercurrent of meaning hiding beneath that statement.

"You don't sound convinced."

Ellie shook her head.

"No, he is very strong…but he is a wolf."

Steve looked down at her bewildered.

"What does that mean?"

Her eyes were hard as they met his evenly.

"They reek of carrion…and hunger, consuming everything in their path. They are the messengers of Craiya for a reason."

He didn't reply right away, guiding her through the maze of corridors until they reached a sleek metallic panel that was slightly indented into the wall.

"Here we go," Steve opened the door and gave Ellie a nudge.

She looked inside hesitantly and Steve gave her a little push.

"Go on, it's alright. I'll be waiting for you out here when you're finished."

Ellie looked up at him with her wide eyes and Steve gave her an encouraging smile. He looked past her to see Agent Hill standing in the room with her arms crossed, leaning back against a wall and watching them. He tapped Ellie's shoulder and pointed.

"She's the one called Agent Hill. She'll help you get some new clothes."

Ellie bit her lip again, looking down at the floor and he was struck by how fragile she appeared at that moment. She held his jacket tightly by the lapels, almost clutching, burrowing her chin into the collar as if she wanted it to swallow her. The sight had him fighting the flash of pity that was clenching in his chest. That was the last thing she needed. That didn't mean he couldn't empathize though. He wasn't sure that he _couldn't_ feel empathy.

He turned her around gently by the shoulders, bending down a little so that she would meet his gaze.

"Hey, I'll be right out here, alright? Just give a shout and I'll come running if anything happens."

He was surprised to see anger flash through her eyes, like a silver fin flickering beneath the green depths of a pond. Coldly, she brushed his hands away.

"I am not a child. I do not need your protection."

Where had that come from? Just a little while ago she was almost cowering behind him. Now she wanted to act proud? Steve shook his head, frustration leaking into his features. He scowled down at her.

"Fine. Like I said, I'll be outside," he told her curtly, spinning her around a giving her a small push into the room.

Turning on his heel, he closed the door behind him and let out a breath. Leaning back against the wall, he shoved his hands into his jean pockets. Well, there went the sympathy he'd been feeling. Then he reached up to jerk his hand through his hair. She was scared and in a completely new environment. He could relate to that, hell, he had _been_ her a year ago. Ellie's shifting emotions revealed a woman trying to cope with the strangeness, to adapt and survive. It was the basest of human reactions for her to move between denial, fear, anger, sadness...it was all normal, so why did her words sting like that?

Because you always want to protect things, the little voice at the back of his head said, it's why you became a soldier. And she did seem like she needed someone to look after her, he thought. Yet, the way she had reacted after she had awoke, she was fast...very fast, and agile. Her limbs, or what he had seen of them, might have been small, but they were leanly muscled and the hand that had gripped his possessed strength. No, she didn't need a caretaker, he mused, but she did need someone to teach her, to show her how this new, alien world worked.

Curious, he pulled out the phone Fury had given him not too long ago and carefully pecked in a question, his finger slow as he hesitated over each key. Poking at the first thing that popped up, he started to read.

_Craiya was one of the numerous Celtic goddesses of death in prehistoric Britain. While little is known of her function aside from ferrying souls into the afterlife, she was also frequently associated with bears, wolves, ravens, and Winter. _

Steve was quiet. Did Ellie's people believe like that? Did she? The question crystallized in his mind only to bring up others. There was a lot he wanted to ask her and he was certain that he wasn't the only one. He would bet every cent he had that SHIELD had even more. Did she have abilities? Was she really human? Did she create that force field? If so, how? If not, how was it made? Who made it? Why had she been sealed away?

Add to that the fact that he knew Fury wouldn't take no for an answer and you had the potential for a very ugly situation, especially for Ellie. At least when he had come to, the people around him knew who he was and what he was. Ellie didn't have that protection. She was at best a subject of interest, potentially a weapon, and at worst, a threat. Either category was not going to be pleasant for her and that thought made Steve wary. She could very easily be taken advantage of. From the very little he could gather from their conversation, she was intelligent and suspicious. Two very good things to be, but she had to trust people on some level, in order to survive. Hell, she couldn't even speak any language on earth without the help of SHIELD's little gizmo. She had given him the tentative amount she could, but what about later? What was going to happen to her after today? Next week? Next year? He couldn't be responsible for her, he knew nearly nothing about her.

And yet, that part of him that had grown up during the Great Depression, that had been taught values now old-fashioned and held little importance in the modern society he had been thrust into, that part of him was rolling out like a Sherman tank. Gallantry had been engrained in him; opening the door, providing for one's family, being the one who could fix anything and everything...it was a way of life that, no matter the distance of years, was still very much a part of him. His jaw tightened.

She was vulnerable, whether she would recognize it or not, and that was one thing that Steve couldn't just walk away from. Watching her struggle to accept what was going on around her, to her, was like looking in a mirror, a fact that made him uncomfortably self-conscious.

The door opened and Ellie stepped into the bright hallway, breaking his train of thought. He straightened from the wall and looked her over approvingly. Thankfully, Hill hadn't stuck her in one of those form-fitting leather get-ups female SHIELD operatives were so fond of. Instead, she wore a very simple, loose, light green blouse and a pair of snug, dark jeans. A pair of black boots completed her ensemble. Ellie held out her arms, his jacket draped over the left one, and looked down at herself.

"These garments are comfortable, and practical. I shall be able to move quite easily in them, although," she scrunched up her nose, "they are not the best clothes in which to conceal yourself." She plucked at the blouse with her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head. "They are too brightly dyed. I would stand out like blood on the skin."

"You look nice, though," he said with a reassuring smile, somewhat jolted by the fact that he meant it.

She looked up at him her head tilting and causing waves of brown hair to spill over her shoulder. Then she extended her arm towards him, his jacket held in her slim fingers.

"Thank you."

He took it from her and shrugged it back on, noting that it now smelled less like leather and more like grass.

"We are to meet Nick Fury in another room, are we not?"

Steve nodded.

"Yeah. Come on, we'll break in those new boots of yours."

She returned his nod and fell into step beside him. The rest of their trek through the facility was silent. Steve concentrated, keeping the mental map that he had made of the base firmly in his mind's eye. One right, another left, left again, and straight down until you see the doors. Pleased with himself, he strode through the sliding doors and held out a chair for Ellie. Noting that she had that dubious look again, as she glanced around the room and then at the chair, he explained.

"You sit in them and they can move. See?"

He demonstrated, swiveling the leather chair left, then right, and finally wheeled it in a small circle. Nodding, Ellie gingerly sat down and Steve followed her example, sliding into a seat beside her. As they settled in, an agent came in with a wheeled tray. Parking it to the side, he lifted four dishes off its surface and placed the aromatic food in front of them. Ellie seemed puzzled at first by the silverware, but after watching him utilize them, she quickly picked the skill up. She studied the plate quietly and he glanced at her.

"What's wrong?"

She gestured to the food, poking at it with her fork.

"I do not know what it is. I know that this is meat, but this white mound looks almost like snow. But it is hot, I can tell by the-" She paused, eyes flickering back and forth for a second. "By the steam." The word was drawn out when she spoke, like she was tasting it and found it odd.

"That's mashed potatoes."

"Oh...Does it taste good?"

"Try it and you tell me," he replied with a friendly grin.

Frowning, she took a very tiny bite. Steve waited as her eyes lit up and a tiny smile curved her lips. She looked up at him.

"Yes."

Satisfied that she would eat, Steve dug into his own plate.

By the time Fury entered the room, the dishes had been cleared and Steve was leaning back in his chair, patting his full stomach. Ellie appeared satisfied too, but her back was still pretty rigid, not resting against the chair, and he could see that her fingers were absently plucking at the arms, tugging on the leather. She looked like a cat on pins, eyes darting at every sound, every creak. Jittery as all hell and he couldn't blame her; he could remember the feeling too well to do that.

The director glanced at them as he made his way to the head of the table.

"I trust you enjoyed your meal?"

She nodded, albeit stiffly.

"Very much. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The director sat down in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him as his elbows braced on the table. His visible eye glittered in the artificial light.

"I imagine that you have quite a story. Not only that, but I believe that you can tell us more about a lost period in our history than any amount of digging through old piss pots. But first, I'd like to know just who you are." He leaned further forward. "More importantly, _what_ you are."

Steve could admit that he was also somewhat curious about the woman they had recovered from the sarcophagus. His gaze slid over to her as she lifted a hand to touch the small device he had given her at her throat. Ellie was looking at Fury with a calculating expression, as if she was wondering just how much to tell the man across from them.

But she stayed quiet, her head canting to the right. Seeing that she wasn't going to speak right away, Fury continued.

"Why were you in that box, Ellie?"

He could almost see the thoughts flickering in her eyes, the tension that had barely loosened in her shoulders returning with a vengeance. Her features became blank.

"I cannot say," she replied after a long moment.

"Did someone put you in there?"

"In a manner."

"Were you aware you had been buried?"

"Yes."

"So you do know why."

"Yes."

"I thought you said you didn't."

"I said that I could not say."

"Did you know the nature of the box?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question."

"Did you know that it could fry a man's ass from twenty yards away if he was dumb enough to go near it?" Fury asked, his patience obviously wearing thin quickly.

Ellie's lips pressed together, her brow furrowing. Steve fought the twitching at the corner of his mouth; that was a look.

"I did not know."

"Why?"

"I was not told."

"Well, what were you told?"

"Nothing."

"Are you human?"

She paused before she answered that, appearing unsure. She said as much.

"I...do not know."

"How do you not know if you're human or not?"

"I do not understand what you mean by human."

"Normal," Steve prompted, linking his fingers behind his head when she glanced at him. "Are you normal? Are you stronger than other people, more intelligent, do you turn into something?"

Again, she hesitated, as if she were trying to wrap her mind around what he meant. Finally, she said, "I do not know."

Steve exchanged a glance with Fury, who nodded almost imperceptibly. That seemed an honest enough answer.

"Maybe we should start with something a little more simple," He suggested, swiveling until his knee bumped against her chair. "Ellie, do you know what year it is?"

Now she looked even more confused.

"What year?"

"Right, the number of the year."

"I...I do not."

"Do you know how old you are?"

"No."

"Do you know where you're from?"

A third pause, this one far heavier than the others as she fingered the machine at her throat again. There were so many obvious emotions swimming in her eyes now that he felt guilty for even asking. He'd blindsided her with that one. He started to ask her something else, pretty sure she wasn't going to answer, and was surprised when she did.

"Sassana." She said it so quietly that he almost hadn't heard her.

That caused another glance to be exchanged. Ellie's eyes flickered between them, her head turning back and forth just enough that the waves of her hair were starting to bounce. The distrust was back in those grey-green irises, although that was evident enough from her clipped answers.

Before he could say anything, Fury asked, "Ellie, do you know what was written on your coffin?"

She turned towards him fully, wariness creeping more openly into her expression.

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

Ellie didn't say anything for several heartbeats. But then, to their disappointment, she replied, "It has no meaning."

That was the first time Steve knew that she'd lied.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **_**Thank you all so much for the favs, follows, and reviews! Please keep them coming, it really brightens my day to see that people enjoy my stories and want me to keep going! :)  
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A storm was rolling in.

The middle-aged woman who sat at her vanity paid the heavy, dark clouds little attention as she painstakingly twisted another strand of her artificially burnished hair. The room was softly lit, the walls paneled in a deep, rich mahogany, the furniture ornately carved from the same wood. Thick, heavy Victorian rugs ran across the expansive floor, leading to a massive four-poster bed, the deeply-dyed silk sheets neatly made. Large paintings in gilded frames hung from the walls, two gorgeous portraits framing the sweeping French doors that led to a stone balcony.

Her fingers tenderly probed the soft flesh of her cheek, feathering over the bangs that fell across her high forehead. Apparently shifting her attention, she dropped her hand and then held a strand of pearls to her neck, pursing her dark, red-stained lips as she considered them in the large mirror. With a huff, she threw them onto the dresser and snatched up a string of emeralds, enjoying how the light playing off of them reflected the green of her eyes. With a nod of satisfaction, she precisely linked the hook with the loop. As the jewels settled against the exposed, freckled skin of her cleavage, the door behind her opened. A well-dressed man strode in, his expression thunderous. The woman caught sight of him in her mirror and half-turned.

"George?"

He didn't answer, marching across the room, and throwing open the doors leading to the balcony. Frowning, the woman rose, the shimmering dress that draped her body rustling as she moved to follow George out onto the balcony. His salt and pepper hair was gently brushed by the breeze, tousling it as he braced his hands on the marble railing. Her hand fluttered against the doorway.

"George, what's the matter?"

He turned his head to regard her over his shoulder. His fingers curled around the stone, his knuckles white. She could see sweat beginning to gather on his upper lip, his bright blue eyes slightly dulled. Concern flashed across her heavily made up features and she stepped out, the wind catching the hem of her dress, making it billow to the side as she reached up a hand to lightly touch his back. A breath shuddered out of him and he hung his head.

"They woke her up, Lily."

She froze, her eyes wide. Slowly, she swallowed, bringing her hands together in front of her in an almost defensive gesture. Her gaze sputtered back and forth, upwards, then to the stone floor beneath her feet. Finally, she said,

"Do they know?"

"Who do you think told him, my dear?" a brogue-roughened voice asked from behind them.

The couple whirled around, their faces pale. Recovering first, Lily, walked forward, her hands outstretched in a grandiose show of welcome.

"Your Grace, it is delightful to see you so soon after our last meeting."

"I'm sure it is," came the purred reply, low and smooth.

She dropped her hands, and her gaze, immediately just as she crossed the threshold of the room. George stood at her back, edging around her to incline his head respectfully, his hand covering his heart. A white, ghostly, and slender hand waved them away before clasping its mate behind the his back. His body was narrow, his features showing in the mirror as he turned as pointed, angular and harsh. The eyes that fell on Lily's were mercurial silver, cold, and devoid of life. Translucent skin, hollow cheeks and thin lips were reminiscent of a corpse or a being that had never seen sunlight. His hair was neatly tied back with a thin black cord, the tresses interwoven with strands of iron gray and shimmering white.

The soles of his supple leather shoes whispered over the surface of the rug as he turned his full attention on the pair. His head tilted sharply, the corners of his lips lifting momentarily as Lily flinched. George shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye, then cleared his throat.

"Are we to proceed as we have been planning, Your Grace? If they have awakened her, it could be-"

"Your concern is noted, Senator," the reply cut sharply and both people took a step back before the man continued, "But it is unnecessary. She will not be able to interfere nor will SHIELD gather enough information to act in time."

He breezed past the couple, stepping out into the heavy, evening air. The couple exchanged a nervous glance, then Lily inclined her head once more.

"We will put aside our concerns, Your Grace, and take comfort in your greater wisdom."

There was a quiet chuckle, more like an amused hissing sound.

"Always so formal, Lily. It's what I like the most about you. Now, I suggest you both make your way to your party this evening. Your New York guests are waiting. I suspect that many of them are more than willing to donate funds to your...charity," he half-turned to look at them, eyes glittering maliciously, "And you are going to need quite a bit more if you are to implement the next phase of your little scheme."

Both gave him a small bow and departed quickly, nearly scurrying, which only furthered his amusement. Thunder rolled across the city below, the yellow lights from the streets blinking in and out of sight through the sheets of rain that slowly flowed towards the mansion. A whisper of power slithered from behind him but he did not turn.

"Humans lack our patience, brother. It is why we have guided them for centuries, is it not?" he murmured as a figure stepped into the shadows cast by the artificial lights beside him.

"You've never been one to state the obvious, Rigel. Does the rain make you sentimental?" the question was soft, though he clearly discerned the gently mocking tone beneath the words. It made him smile wryly.

"Hardly," he turned his head to look at his claimed sibling, the two nearly identical, except that the new male wore his hair cropped short, "Though I may be falling back into the trap by asking what orders you bring me. I don't believe that the Conclave is going to idly sit when the Speaker has been released."

A breathy laugh.

"You're right, my perceptive friend," again, the mocking tone and Rigel scowled deeply, turning his gaze back to the drenched city. "But for the moment, we are to wait. We won't make the first, hasty move and reveal ourselves too soon. From what we've gathered, she is not even aware of us yet. I think we can all agree that we would like to keep it that way for as long as possible."

"From the shadows of stars we strike," Rigel intoned quietly, as if the words were a half-formed memory. The figure beside him nodded and he waved his hand. "Thank you, Saiph, for your time, as always."

"Picked up the humans' phrases, I see. Or have you forgotten that time has always been _our_ servant?"

The question remained unanswered as the rain began to patter onto the stone, the balcony empty and no wind stirred.

* * *

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose hard as the door to the conference room slid closed behind him with barely a whisper against the carpet.

Ellie had been less than cooperative after those initial questions, moving quickly from monosyllabic to dead silent in the space of a few minutes. Fury, at least, had relented by that point. Maybe even he could see how tired she looked, although she'd only been awake a couple of hours, tops. At any rate, he'd immediately ordered for two agents to take her to a set of quarters they'd prepared for her.

"Captain."

Steve glanced up towards the head of the table and straightened.

"Sir?"

They were alone. Fury's gaze was pointed as he regarded the soldier, his thumb lightly resting against his chin.

"I'm assigning you to her personal detail, effective immediately."

If he wasn't sitting upright then, he definitely was now, blue eyes startled.

"Excuse me?"

Fury scowled at him, leaning forward.

"You already know that we brought you into this because you've got to be the only man in the world who knows exactly what she's going through, knows what she can expect as she adjusts. And that is going to be your job, Cap, to help her adjust, by any means necessary." The director's eye was sharp. "And while you manage to do that, find out what the hell she is and what she's capable of."

"Nick, I'm the last man on earth to bring her up to speed, and she isn't going to tru-" he started to protest, but Fury cut him off curtly.

"Then make her trust you. I don't care how or why. _All_ I care about is that she isn't going to be a threat and that she doesn't cut through any more people."

"How do you plan on me figuring out just how big of a threat she is?"

"You're not. We're going to be assessing her as you work with her, observing. _You're_ just going to make sure that she plays nice with the other kids on the playground."

Steve's jaw shut with a snap. He took a deep breath and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his tongue in check. Then he spoke again, changing tack.

"So she's a person of interest." A question that wasn't quite a question.

"At the _very_ least," Fury replied.

"And you're going to keep her locked up down here." There was another one. The director shook his head.

"For the moment. After we get a better handle on the whats, hows, and whys, we'll see about letting her out into the world. It's for her own good as much as ours. We have no idea how she'll react, and it might be a lot less pleasant than just now, whether you're there or not. The last time we woke someone up taught us quite a bit about that."

There was a self-depreciating undercurrent of humor in his tone that Steve almost smiled at. It was playing around his lips when he said, "Live and learn, right?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, his expression becoming grim.

"Right. I don't think much of surprises, and I sure as hell don't want to let loose something that's going to keep me up at night." He paused for a moment, then added in a low voice, "I also don't think I need to remind you that she doesn't stray a single toe out of DC."

And yet you felt the need to say it, Steve thought sourly, good mood vanishing as quickly as it had come.

"Yes, sir." The response was automatic.

"Good. Make whatever arrangements you need, Cap, I suspect you might be here a while."

The muscle in his jaws tightened until he was sure it was going to crack. He might be a soldier, but he'd never cared for being railroaded...or lied to. But he also knew how unlikely it was for Fury to start being honest if he simply asked. Rising stiffly, Steve left the room without a further word, hanging left as soon as he stepped through the door.

By the time the sun was setting over the Potomac, he'd been by his apartment, packing only a few changes of clothes and a toothbrush. Stepping out of the weathered redbrick building, he tossed the bag over the back of his motorcycle and gunned the engine. The wind blowing across his cheeks felt good, blending with the sound of the bike's roar. He was tired. Bone tired. And his head was starting to ache from the constant buzzing of his own thoughts.

She'd lied to them. He didn't blame her for it, exactly, but as loathe as he was to admit that he agreed with Nick Fury on anything, he was right in that they needed to understand why she'd been put in that sarcophagus. Was it because she was a victim of some sort of ritual sacrifice, a gift from her people to their ancient gods? Or was it because she was dangerous? Or for another reason entirely? Before anything else, he needed to find out the answers to those three questions first, SHIELD and their needles be damned. Medical science might be able to tell a lot of things from a person's DNA, but it couldn't tell you about what _kind_ of person they were. Even if she were someone like Dr. Banner, for example, with the capability to level a city, she would only be as dangerous as her intentions in wielding that power. That was what he thought, at any rate.

Somehow, he doubted that would matter very much in the long run.

They may let people like Bruce and Tony Stark go where they please, but they were never allowed to stray from SHIELD's radar; Fury always knew where they were.

And that turned the world into one wide, beautiful, gilded cage.

The idea made him grimace as he pulled into the first floor of the massive underground parking garage just beyond the bridge leading to SHIELD's Washington headquarters.

He wasn't any different was he? Steve mused, killing the bike's engine. Even if he followed orders, played by the rules, he was still a potential threat. If he ever decided to play for the other team...

But who was that? At one time, he would have easily been able to answer that question. HYDRA. Now, seventy years later? He wasn't entirely sure that the answer wasn't SHIELD itself.

They certainly weren't trying to endear themselves to anyone, he thought as he walked into an elevator and pressed the down button. But then, they used 'heros' like Iron Man and Captain America to do that, didn't they?

Barely catching a scurrying agent by the collar before he barreled off into the unknown labyrinth that made up the lowest levels, Steve talked him into showing him an empty set of quarters on the same floor they'd housed Ellie. It was several halls down from where the agent said they'd placed her, but it was close enough. He barely glanced at the room, tossing the bag across the foot of the narrow bed before moving to open the door into a small bathroom adjacent to the main area. Turning the cold tap, he cupped his hands under the water before splashing it across his face. It was like being slapped with ice, and he hissed in a breath at the contact. He looked up into the tiny mirror hanging on the white tile wall and let his eyes rove over the reflection of the room at his back.

There was nothing decorative or colorful anywhere to be seen. The bed was covered in a bland creme blanket and stark, white sheets. He could see a black, square nightstand just next to it, with one of those clocks that lit up with bright red numbers, and a larger black dresser just across the space with a small television set atop it. He'd noticed the desk in the corner just outside the bathroom with a lamp and a less plush version of the swivel chairs in the conference room a few floors up. Since there wasn't a kitchenette, he assumed there was probably a cafeteria somewhere on the floor, or at least vending machines.

Spartan. Nondescript. Military.

Reaching for the rough towel hanging by the sink, he wiped away the lingering droplets of water. He combed his fingers through his hair a couple of times, brushing back his bangs so they didn't feather down into his eyes like they were wont to do when they were damp. Feeling more awake and alert, he patted his back pocket to make sure that the key card was there before locking the door and striding out into the hall. That agent had said they'd put Ellie somewhere on the far northern side of the floor. Well away from the elevators, Steve had noted dryly. The agent had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed.

Turning right when he reached the end of the corridor, his tread echoed in the empty, cavernous hallways, bouncing off the metal walls and hard floors. After a few steps, he turned right again, spotting a large, closed metal door at the far end of the hall; the only door, in fact. Unsure if Ellie would know that he was being polite, Steve stopped at the threshold and knocked anyway. He waited a minute, then heard the doorknob jiggle a bit as it was turned from the other side.

Ellie peeped from around the door cautiously, her wide-eyed gaze locking on him briefly before flickering over his shoulder. He shifted a little to show that no one was behind him and he saw the tightness around her eyes relax a fraction.

"Hey," he greeted her with a small smile, the expression fading immediately when she suddenly launched from around the door, throwing her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest. His own arms automatically came around her shoulders, one palm resting against her hair while the other spanned her shoulder blades. "Hey, hey, hey! What's wrong?"

She didn't make an answer and he could see the tremors shuddering up and down her small body, her heart beating so hard he could feel it hammering against his chest. Something had obviously spooked her. Awkwardly, he patted her back, half-twisting to see if anyone had happened to stray into the corridor that could help him. He had no idea how to comfort a woman, much less one that had firmly entrenched herself around his torso. With a silent sigh, he looked down at the top of her head. Even her hair looked like it was shaking.

"C'mon, Ellie, relax, I've got you. Nothing else is going to get you, alright?" he settled for a soothing tone he'd have taken with a child, hoping that it would either calm her down or piss her off enough that she'd let go so he wouldn't feel so damned self-conscious. Nothing could make a man more aware of his own body than when a woman pressed herself against him, no matter the circumstances.

Unfortunately, she wasn't letting go, which only made him feel more uncomfortable as the minutes wore on, but he was grateful that it didn't seem like she was crying. He really didn't know what he would have done if she'd been doing that.

"Ellie? Ellie, talk to me. What's wrong? What happened?"

The questions only seemed to make her tremble harder and he inwardly cursed. What the hell had SHIELD done to her when they'd taken her out of the conference room? Anger surged through him and he fought to keep his hands from balling into fists at her back. There was no good reason to terrorize her. Leaning to the right slightly, Steve peered around the still open door and into the room they'd place her. It was nearly identical to his own, with the exception that everything seemed to be on the opposite side. His frown deepened. What was in there that'd scared her so badly? Or was it something else?

She didn't seem to be in a sharing mood, so he could only speculate at this point. He stopped patting her, his hands instinctively moving to rub her back in small circles as he thought. Deciding that questioning her was only going to make it worse, he kept quiet and hoped that his presence would be enough. He bent forward enough to rest his chin on the top of her head and tightened his hold around her, determined to wait this out. Fury wanted her to trust him. This was going to be a telling step. Maybe it was listening to his steady pulse or maybe it was being in contact with another human being, but slowly, slowly, she started to ease her grip on him. It took nearly a full fifteen minutes, but by degrees, her arms loosened, and the shivering stopped. She wouldn't look up at him though, and kept her face firmly burrowed.

He lifted his head and canted it to the left, looking down at her. Gently, he pried her arms from around him and eased her back, holding both her hands loosely in one of his larger ones. He kept his movements slow and careful, like he was dealing with a skittish kitten. When she didn't protest, or bolt like he half-expected her to, he released her completely. Ellie kept her head down, her eyes on the floor and he wondered that she might be feeling embarrassed or ashamed. Either was possible. Maybe to show fear in her time was ill-favored. It wasn't exactly welcomed in his.

"Are you alright?"

It was another couple of minutes before she nodded. Encouraged, Steve tried again, keeping his voice low.

"Do you want to go back inside?"

She adamantly shook her head, tucking her hands under her arms and holding herself tight. She was starting to shake again. Worried that she might fling herself at him again, or worse, take off, Steve glanced around quickly for something, anything, that could distract her. But there was nothing around them, just white walls and dead quiet. Something to look at, something that might make her feel less scared. What would he have liked to see in her shoes? What had he wanted? He pulled the memories from when he'd first woken up to the forefront of his mind, trying to remember what he'd been thinking.

Then he knew.

A grin spread across his features and he turned his eyes back towards her.

"Do you still trust me?"

Her eyes darted up to his at the question, as if searching for the answer. She nodded again and he held out his hand to her for the second time that day. Patiently, he waited as her gaze flickered between his hand and his face. Then she reached out and took it, and his fingers closed around hers. He lightly tugged as he turned to lead her down the hall and she fell into step beside him. He had to shorten his stride a little so that she could keep up without him just dragging her along. They had to make several turns, stopping a couple of times for Steve to mentally check his map to make sure they was going in the right direction, but eventually they reached the elevators. At the sight of them, Ellie hesitated, her steps faltering and he could feel the tension in her arm where she was starting to pull against him. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she came to a stop at his side in front of the doors.

"It's alright," she gave him a dubious look and he added, "They're elevators. They move up and down to take you to different floors in a building. You were on one just a little while ago, when those agents brought you down here."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion and he held back a sigh.

"Trust me?" he asked again. He was relieved when she dipped her head towards him.

He pressed the button and guided her inside the small space, tapping the highest number on the sleek screen, making it chime. The doors slid closed and he felt his stomach give the familiar drop as they started to ascend. He glanced over at Ellie and noticed that her shoulders were curving inwards, her eyes wide and darting around frantically. She wasn't shaking, but she was definitely stiff, as if every muscle in her body had gone instantly rigid. Her breathing was shallow and the color had nearly completely drained from her features, making her swirling tattoos appear disturbingly distinct against her skin.

She was claustrophobic.

He mentally kicked himself. Of course she would be, you jackass! After being buried alive for God knows how long, why wouldn't she be?

Without thinking, Steve grabbed her chin and turned her face towards his.

"Ellie, look at me. Breathe. Keep your eyes on me, alright?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her swallow hard. He tightened his grip on her hand and was a little surprised by how strongly she gripped his back. She took a deep, shuddering breath in, then let it out in a whoosh. She repeated that action and he smiled at her crookedly, trying to encourage her.

"Good girl. Keep at it. You're fine. I'm here, you're fine, alright?"

He knew he was repeating himself over and over, but if it meant keeping her calm then it didn't matter. He'd say whatever had to, as many times as he had to, to make sure she didn't panic. He didn't know what she was capable of, he reasoned with himself. And panicking never helps anyone. And she needed to trust him. It was all part of the job.

The doors could not open fast enough. Leading her by the hand again, he hauled her out of the elevator, relieved that her breathing had at least returned to normal. She was still too pale for his liking. They were in another hallways, but this one was short, and had no paint, leaving bare bracing and dark steel exposed. A large door was at the end, to the left, heavy and cold to the touch. Steve turned the latch with a hard jerk and heaved, metal groaning in protest as he pushed it wide open. There was an instant rush of cool air, cold enough to sting the lungs a little. Steve let his eyes close for just a moment and breathed it in, relishing the scent of autumn in the city. When he opened them, he stepped through the doorway. It had led to the roof.

To hell with what Fury thought. She needed to be outside, even if it was just for a little while. Nothing in that building was normal to her. Nothing was familiar. But this? The night sky and the wind off the water? He doubted he could have found much else that could have made her feel like she was still in the same world. The Potomac wound to each side of them, the orange glow of the street lights that lined its banks glittering off its surface. Washington stretched out behind them, white granite and shimmering glass reflecting the thousands of headlights, night lights, and the last vestiges of daylight as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Steve looked back at Ellie.

She was staring up, her lips parted. He also looked up and chuckled.

The stars were out.

Mindful of where they were walking, he gave her hand another tug and brought her to the black metal railing that marched along the edge of the roof.

"You can see them better from here," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

The wind was blustery coming off the water, but refreshing, and he watched as it ruffled through her brown waves. His baby blue eyes were alight, pleased with himself. This was a good he'd first woken up, he'd ran. For his life, yeah, (hell, who wouldn't in his shoes?) but also because he knew something wasn't right. He'd wanted to see where he was, what was wrong. It's been so much more than he'd bargained for, but looking up at that blue sky...it'd probably been the one thing that had kept him feeling grounded. There were constants in this world. Everyone needed to be reminded of that once in a while.

She'd needed this as much as he had. And it'd helped. She was relaxed, tearing her gaze from the twinkling orbs overhead to peer down at the sluggish, dark waters below. But her eyes were immediately flashing back up, as if drawn. They stood there for a long time, Steve leaning forward to rest his forearms on the cold railing while Ellie stood beside him, her hands limp at her sides and head tilted back. He left her to her thoughts, content to just watch the current run, occasionally glancing towards the city or to her.

He was pleasantly surprised when she finally broke her silence.

"I did not realize that I missed seeing them. I had thought that when I awoke the sky would have been the first thing I would see," she said in a soft, wistful tone.

Steve looked over at her thoughtfully.

"You saw the first thing I did, a white and gray ceiling." The corner of his lips twitched. "It wasn't very welcoming, was it?"

She shook her head, biting her lip. Then she turned to face him fully, her wide eyes looking up at him with an expression that flittered between amazement and gratitude.

"No, it wasn't. You were."

A flush rushed to Steve's cheeks at the simple honesty in her gaze and he broke eye contact with her, his hands still in his pockets. Clearing his throat, he was relieved to see that she had moved her attention back upwards. He followed her line of sight and, straightening, touched her shoulder, pointing.

"Look, there's Orion's belt. See the bright line of stars right there?"

She squinted at where he was pointing.

"No, where?"

He tugged at the sleeve of her green blouse, pulling her closer to him. The dark waves of her hair brushed his bicep as she leaned close to his forearm. Ellie looked up along the line of his finger and haltingly placed her own next to his.

"Those three stars in a line right there?"

He nodded, her hair tickling his chin.

"Yeah. That's Orion's belt. The bright one just under those is his foot and the one above and to the right is the tip of his arrow."

She smiled.

"Ah, that is beautiful! I know those stars, but we did not call them Orion. Why do you call it that?"

"I think its a really old story. Maybe you know it?"

He'd hoped she might; something else familiar to draw comfort from. But she shook her head again, her hair feathering against his nose as he lowered his arm and the scent of grass wafted past him from the dark strands. Ellie's arm came down as well and he stepped to her side. She turned her head to look up at him.

"I do not know the name. Perhaps it was a story from another...another country, I think is the word. Our _fir ciallmhar _ told us that the hunter, Fiach, ascended to the sky to pursue his sister and love, Fianna, the daughter of Rythom, the god of winds. She became a deer and fled to the house of her mother's people, _an réaltaí_, the stars. To catch her, he chased after her and drew his bow to shoot her as she ran from him. But their mother, Thian, blinded him and so they will always run across the sky."

Steve found himself watching her as she spoke. Her expression reflected torn emotions, gloominess and nostalgia in equal parts. It was a haunted look, one that he knew he'd probably worn more than once.

"That's a pretty sad story, Ellie," he said after a moment.

She nodded, her hands cupping her elbows.

"It is. It is one of the saddest tales I know," she bent her head, "The stories about the _réaltaí_ are never happy ones. The ___fir ciallmhar_ said that they were cursed by Uthir, the ancestor of my mother's house."

He frowned at her, trying to decide which bit of information to comment on.

"And you miss them? The-the _rea-reatea-"_

_"_The _réaltaí_," she said with a smile, obviously pleased that he was attempting her language. She repeated the word again, slowly, but he stumbled over it. She shook her head with a laugh, reaching out a hand.

"Here," she grasped his fingers with hers, bringing his hand to her jaw. His fingers cupped one cheek, his thumb the other.

"Now," she instructed calmly, "feel my mouth move and watch my lips. Then repeat after me."

Steve nodded and she carefully pronounced the word. He watched her closely and tried to mime the way her mouth moved.

"_R__éaltaí_."

She grinned up at him happily, her eyes dancing.

"Yes, yes, that is it!"

Her exuberance was infectious and Steve found himself grinning down at her as he dropped his hand.

"Nice to know it takes so little to make you happy."

She froze and although she was still smiling, there was something melancholy about it, brittle.

"Do you know how long it has been since someone spoke my own language with me?" she touched a hand to the base of her throat, "Without the aid of this small ma-machine?"

Steve swallowed the lump that formed in his own throat, mentally kicking himself again. Of course it would mean a lot to her. Ellie patted his shoulder as she walked past him, but not before he saw how suspiciously bright her eyes had become in the dim moonlight. He looked up at the rows of stars that twinkled silently. To be the last of your family was terrible, but to be the last of your people? To know that everything died with you; the memories, the stories, a way of life...the thought must have crossed her mind more than once since she had opened her eyes.

Steve made a face as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, with a sigh, he turned his back to the skyline and the twinkling stars overhead. It wasn't like they held any answers for anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **_** I would really appreciate some feedback on this story, and whether or not there's an interest in me continuing it. Honestly, it's more than a little disheartening when you put so much effort and love into a project and only get 1 review. Is there something wrong with the story? The plot? The characters? The writing? Please do let me know. I'm always looking to improve.  
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**At any rate, this chapter is going to be only slightly longer than those previous.  
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**As always, read and enjoy!**

* * *

Director Fury sat, stone-faced, behind his large, ebony colored desk, his fingers steepled as his elbows rested on the arms of his chair. Files sprawled across the shiny surface in front of him, but he paid them no attention. His good eye was focused intently on the far wall, his mouth set in a firm line. The flat screen that was propped at the corner of his desk blipped and lines upon lines of green type flowed upwards, information racing too fast to read.

That hardly mattered, as he already had a fairly good idea what each report already contained. While he did not possess a perfect memory, it was damn close. As the commander of the most extensive protection agency in the world, it was a necessity.

The sliding door that led into his office silently opened and Agent Hill strode in, two other agents flanking her as she stopped in the middle of the room. It was a spartan space, sleek and mostly unfurnished, with one large window looking out to the Potomac, now only a dark ribbon under a moonless night. Fury's eye glanced over as he swiveled his chair, crossing his leg casually.

"What have you got for me?"

She cleared her throat.

"Nothing new at the moment, sir. We have a few leads and I've dispatched several agents to follow them up."

Fury nodded absently, his gaze having fallen to his desk as she spoke. His dark eye flicked up.

"Dismissed," he said tersely and she saluted smartly before spinning on her heel.

When his office was once again empty, he stood, clasping his hands behind his back and walking around the desk.

"Open file 24563, center."

There was a soft beep followed by a hologram being projected to his left, at the exact center of the room. Lifting a hand, Fury flicked through various crime scene photographs, blowing up one specific photo with a gesture. He studied it silently.

A man lay face down in the middle of an alley, most of his body in a dirty, murky puddle of rainwater. The asphalt was obviously wet, the man's clothes darkly stained with dampness. His shoes were scuffed, the soles possessing numerous holes and revealing the bare feet that they contained. His trousers were patched, the plaid shirt covering his torso faded and soiled. A heavy garment, perhaps a coat, had been lain across his head, but whether it had been an attempt to mask his identity or even an act of kindness, to keep his head dry pre-mortem, there was no definitive method of knowing. It had been pulled back, however, revealing a man that had been quite surprised, and horrified, by his death. The features would have been relatively handsome, with a strong jaw, straight nose, and once luminous blue eyes, but they were twisted in an expression that even he found disturbing.

All of the observations that could be made seemed routine, a street crime that the local coroner could handle, all except for two facts.

The first was the fact that the bottom of his feet visible through the tears in his shoes were starkly clean. The second was revealed when he had the computer run a bio-scan over the photograph of the corpse. A white, luminescent square inserted itself on the screen and hummed quietly as it traced the unfortunate man's outline. Upon hovering over his chest, it made a soft series of rapid beeps, and pulled up a glowing radiogram of his internal organs. Fury's frown quickly became a scowl.

His damn heart had exploded.

"There was a time when you'd have just snatched the body and had it brought here for autopsy instead of waiting to see what the NYPD came up with," a husky voice commented dryly from the far corner.

"What gave you the impression that I didn't have it brought here, Romanoff?" he replied, hardly sparing the remark a blink. He didn't bother to remind her about what he'd said about his office. She'd ignore him anyway.

There was no answer, only the faint brush of soft-soled boots against light carpet. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of bobbed red hair. A delicate chin jerked towards the screen.

"This why you called me in?"

"Partially." He pressed his thumb against a small indention in his desk and the screen wiped itself clean. "And partially because of what we've just brought back to the land of the living." He turned towards her with a hard look. "But you already knew that."

"Oh, I heard about your little zombie," she said with a smirk. It quickly fell when she added, "I can't imagine being buried alive for thousands of years and keeping your sanity."

The glance he gave her was appraising.

"So you read the preliminary report by Dr. Hackett."

She made herself comfortable by leaning a hip against his desk, folding her arms loosely as she gestured with one hand.

"Yeah, but I can't say I'm impressed. He's making a great deal of assumptions on very little evidence." Her eyes gleamed. "From what I hear, he's pushing hard to be point in medical testing. And that he was less than happy about the fact that you've restricted access to his latest pet project. Cap only."

If she was expecting him to answer her round about questions, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

"You hear a lot," he said coolly.

She shrugged.

"Part of the job description, isn't it?" She pointed to the now blank wall. "So tell me about this murder in downtown Manhattan."

"No one said it was a homicide." His gaze narrowed.

"But you think it is."

"What I _think_ doesn't matter if I'm wrong."

She canted her head slightly.

"New York," she said quietly, something flashed in those green irises when she spoke, trepidation or irritation, he wasn't entirely sure which. Probably both, if her facade slipped enough from him to see it. But it didn't matter in the long run either.

"You leave in half an hour."

* * *

"Steve Rogers," his name in her soft lilt still sounded odd to him, but not necessarily in a bad way.

"Hmm?"

He shortened his stride as they walked down yet another long corridor, his hands in stuffed in the pockets of his jeans casually while hers clasped behind her back. Despite his effort, she still rushed a little to keep up with him.

They'd descended from the roof after about an hour. It was chilly and he worried that she'd catch a cold. He didn't know if she _could_ get sick. She might have some kind of mutant, superior immune system. But, then again, it might not be. Better to play it safe, he figured. Besides, any longer out there and they were bound to catch someone's attention. She'd balked when they'd gotten back to the elevator, digging the heels of her boots into the tile, which had proven ineffectual, and had actually worked to his advantage, allowing him to easily drag her towards the doors. After that, though, it'd taken almost twenty minutes of nonstop coaxing, talking to her in the same gentle tone he'd used with a neighborhood kitten that'd gotten stuck up a tree when he was a kid, to get her to even step a toe inside. When she'd refused to go further, he changed gears, rebuking her harshly for being so afraid of something that clearly hadn't hurt her. She'd challenged him, pointing out that nothing hurt anyone when no one was near it. Rolling his eyes, he'd pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly and just given up, opting to take the stairs down.

Even after that, he was restless, and she seemed to still be buzzing with energy, so he'd stopped on an upper floor, one lined with offices, conference rooms, fake flora and the occasional vending machine. He guided her up and down the empty halls, his eye once in a while glancing towards the cameras he could hear whirring as they tilted to observe them.

"I wish to know why you named me Ellie."

The query startled him a little and he looked down past his shoulder with a frown, but was only able to see the crown of her dark hair.

"I thought we went over this already," he lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug, "You just look like an Ellie to me. It fits you."

She lifted her head then, clear eyes glittering speculatively.

"Yes, you said that, but why? _Why_ does it fit me?"

He stared at her for several heartbeats. She'd started asking more questions after their initial conversation. Simple ones so far, like where they were, what were streetlights, what was a building...but that had apparently come to an end.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I've just always had an image of what an 'Ellie' would be like and you fit. Nice, pretty...you know, an 'Ellie'." At her skeptical look, he sighed, his fingers now rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, does it matter? You needed a name and that was the first thing that came to mind, alright?"

He spread his hands in front of him with another shrug and she scowled, shaking her head, clearly frustrated.

"But...but you barely know who I am. How can you bestow on me qualities that you cannot be sure I possess?" Irritation bled into her voice and he gave her a long look out of the corner of his eye, watching as she crossed her arms sullenly. Her moods were starting to strike him as mercurial.

"It's really bothering you, huh?" he asked and blanched when she shot him a glare.

"Yes," she answered tightly.

"Why? Is it just because you think I made an assumption about you?"

Her footsteps faltered for a second, then stopped altogether. He stood next to her silently, watching emotions roll across her face as she stared down at her boots. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that question.

"N-no, it..." her voice trailed off.

"Names worked differently for you," he finished for her in a quiet voice.

She nodded, her expression softening as her hand lifted, fingers fiddling with the tiny silver disk at her throat.

"Names _meant _something to us. _A thabhairt ar ár n-ainmneacha dúinn críche,_" she lifted her eyes to his. "Our names gave us purpose."

"And how do you know that 'Ellie' has no meaning to me? Or that it didn't serve a purpose to name you that?"

"Did it?"

"Do you want it to?"

Another question that seemed to throw her. Her gaze lowered back to the floor and he could see her eyes tracing the random patterns that decorated the crisp, flat carpet. Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. Steve studied her closely as she grappled with the inquiry. She didn't seem upset, which made him feel a little better for even asking. The last thing he wanted was to spook her again, although he knew it wasn't questions that had sent her flying from her room and into his arms, shivering.

"What purpose would you have wanted to have?" he asked, changing tack.

Ellie didn't answer right away, her steps slowing as she seemed to ponder the question..

"It wouldn't have been for me to say," she answered after several heartbeats. "My purpose, like my name, would have been chosen for me, eventually."

Steve's brows rose.

"And what do you think would that might've been?"

She frowned up at him.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged.

"Well, what are your strengths?"

"S...strengths?" she repeated slowly, the lilt in her voice drawing out the vowel as her frown deepened.

"Yeah," he replied with a crooked smile, folding his arms loosely. "What are you good at?" If anything, she just looked more bewildered, so he elaborated. "Er, your talents? You know. How some people are natural artists, some people have a knack for writing, others are just damned good in a fight, that sort of thing?"

"Oh."

Again, she hesitated, but this time he left her to untangle her thoughts on her own. If someone had posed the same question to him, he wasn't sure he could have answered right away either. Until he'd volunteered for the serum, he'd never been much good at anything. Tenacity. Tenacity, grit, determination, will power. That's what he'd have liked to credit for making it as far as he had before meeting Howard Stark. But in all honesty, it wasn't his to give. Bucky had always been the one to keep pushing him forward. He quickly let that thought go. Dredging up ghosts never did anyone any good.

Striding over to an open, dark conference room, Steve propped an arm up over his head against the wall, leaning his weight into it as he gazed out through large, sweeping windows towards the capital. He heard her soft footfalls behind him, catching a glimpse of dark waves out of the corner of his eye as she stood beside him, her hands cupping her elbows.

"Figure it out?" he asked her with a half-smile.

She shook her head, but her features were relaxed, even awed as she stared out the windows.

"I...don't think it is important," she admitted in a hushed voice. "Not here."

"Well, you're wrong there." She turned to look at him, and he jerked his head in the direction of the door behind them. "To them, who you were is more important than anything else about you. What you could do, what made you special enough to seal away. For these people, who you could have been is the answer."

"Answer?" she asked, brow knitting.

He looked dead in her eyes and said bluntly, "Yeah, in determining what they're going to do with you."

He let her consider that for a while. He wasn't goong to be anything less than honest with her. No one else was going to be, he knew. They'd lie and conjole and threaten, anything they had to in order to figure her out. Tests, interrogations, manipulation...his hand tightened into a fist where it rested above his head.

He'd keep them off her as long as he could. She didn't deserve it. No one did. To break someone in the name of security was too high a price. That was fear, not safety. And SHIELD toed that line far too often for his peace of mind.

Steve forced himself to relax, tracing his eyes over glassy skyscrapers and white granite. They were still close to the roof, the fortieth or even fiftieth floor, he guessed, able to look far out onto the glowing cityscape. The familiar seamlessly blended with the alien until he could hardly tell the two apart anymore. Hell, he mused, maybe he was getting used to it. Then he let out an amused breath. Not likely. And if he couldn't get used to it, he seriously doubted Ellie would. Then again, she might surprise him. He glanced at her, lost in her own thoughts, barely blinking as she unconsciously edged closer to the glass to take in as much of the view as possible. She looked so very ordinary standing there. Her face was washed to an almost ethereal paleness by the far flung city lights across the water, made even more stark by the swirls that stained her skin. It had the effect of making her eyes look larger, and much darker, very nearly the same, almost blackish green color of the water that-

He shook his head roughly, clearing it. Another memory he didn't need to wander too far into. Instead, he shifted from the wall and took a couple of steps until he was shoulder to shoulder with her.

"Ever seen anything like it?"

He tapped his index finger against the glass as he stopped, watching the society lights flicker and twinkle. It was like looking at a roiling field of candles, or fireflies. He glanced over at Ellie, who was shaking her head.

"The only thing I have seen in my lifetime that could compare was when the _daoine _gathered_. _And that is hardly a comparison."

"The _daoine_?" he said the word carefully, trying to imitate her accent. He watched with a slow spreading grin as she fought to keep her lips from twitching into a smile at the pitiful attempt. Threading her fingers through the wavy strands of her hair to tuck them behind her ear, she tilted her head up at him.

"My...people." She swept a hand towards the window. "There were times when we would come together. It is called _Arnmoot_."

He filed that away in the back of his mind.

"When would you have them? The arnmoots?"

She gave into the smile at his pronunciation of the word, and he was glad to see that the wariness that had been lurking in her eyes had diminished since that afternoon. She seemed open, and at ease to talk with him, the child-like demeanor she had exhibited replaced with a woman who was much older than she looked.

"There were many occasions for us to gather. If a couple hand-fasted, if an elder died. If a child was born, or if there was a call for war."

That didn't sound so different from this day and age. Maybe she'd adjust better than he'd anticipated. From the way she spoke, though, and what she had said to him when she'd first woken up, he thought he knew what their last gathering had been about.

"Was it just your chiefs that met for war?"

"No. Our warriors were always present, as were our healers, among others."

"Others? You sound like you were there."

She let out a quiet breath, her smile fading as her gaze becoming distant, fixed on something beyond the window that he couldn't see.

"I was."

"So you were a healer?" he guessed.

She snorted, turning to face him and uncurling one hand to extend it towards him, palm up.

"Does this look to be the hand of a healer to you, Steve Rogers?"

Steve glanced down, a small wrinkle forming between his brows as he squinted at her palm in the dim light from the window. He started to tell her that he didn't see much of anything when she reached out with her other hand and grabbed his. She placed it over hers, his fingertips grazing the underside of her knuckles and he frowned.

Her palm felt rough, like untanned leather, especially at the base of her fingers. He ran a fingertip along the ridge of her thumb, then down her life line, which was deeply creased into her skin. His free hand came up to hold hers still as he swept the pad of his own thumb up each of her fingers, feeling thick callouses scrap under the touch. That was when he discovered the scars. They weren't the puckered smoothness of freshly made wounds. These were old, indented, like tiny star bursts dotting her fingertips. Absently, he turned her hand over and traced the curving lines of the tattoos that led down her wrists, down her arms and disappeared under her sleeves. Her knuckles were battered, and looked as though they had been frequently torn into by something sharp or jagged.

"No, it doesn't. Warrior then?" he wondered aloud, curious what weapon could have used to have toughened her hands to that degree.

"No," she replied softly, simply, watching him as he turned her hand over a second time, palm back up. His thumb smoothed along its center.

"Well, you could've gotten these from any farming tool, to be honest," he said, tapping the small cluster of tough tissue on her middle finger. "They're splinter scars. Got a couple myself, but not that many. Which is the thing." Steve lifted his eyes to hers. "Too many for hoeing a field, even if you'd done it for years. And the callouses are in the wrong place for where you'd have gripped the handle."

She didn't argue, although he wondered if SHIELD's little gizmo had been able to translate what a callous even was. Abruptly, she pulled her hand from his and he let her, shoving his own into the pockets of his jeans. There were a number of natural questions that he had to ask, and, gambling, he decided to ask the one that was uppermost on his mind.

"So, why does a girl with no name, no purpose, and no strengths to speak of get locked in a stone coffin?"

He couldn't say he was entirely surprised when she didn't answer him directly, and watched the mistrust creep back into her features, shuttering her thoughts behind now stony grey-green irises. Well, that was the end of that.

Exhaling heavily through his nose, he moved to stand beside her and gently touched her elbow.

"C'mon, it's late, and you've had a right busy day."

She tensed, but didn't fight him, letting him guide her out of the conference room and back into the hall, walking towards the elevator. As they neared the doors, he could feel the muscles in her arms tighten, and he braced himself for the argument that was inevitable as he pressed the button pointing down. She stunned him, however, when she eased her arm away from his hand and instead replaced it with both of her own, interlacing their fingers and gripping tightly. He looked down at her to see her gazing back up, her bottom lip grasped firmly between her teeth, her expression timid. As the doors opened, she looked into the small space and took a deep breath.

"It won't be very long, will it? Being in the...the elevator?" she asked softly, her eyes widening in trepidation as he stepped forward, pulling her in with him.

"Nope, won't take long at all," he replied with a wide grin, squeezing her fingers between his. The doors slid shut with a soft ding, and he glanced over to see that she had also shut her eyes tightly. Her bottom lip had lost all its color, starkly pale from where she was digging her teeth into the tender flesh. "Breathe, Ellie."

She struggled to do just that, drawing shallow, shaky breaths. He was half tempted to make her look at him, like he had before. But by the time he considered it, the doors were opening again. Obviously relieved, Ellie let go of him and scurried out into the hallway. He was right behind her, then beside her as they walked through the blindingly white corridors. In his head, he counted the turns. It was enough to make a person feel like a rat in a maze.

Ellie was fidgeting as they came closer to her door, scraping her thumbnail over her index knuckle while her other fingers busily tugged at one another. She'd managed to peel some of the skin off her lip, causing it to bleed a little as her eyes darted in every direction. When his foot dragged against the carpet, she jumped, hair flying as she spun towards the sound, eyes wide and nearly rolling. Steve stopped and held up his hands in a surrender gesture.

"Hey, hey, it's alright! It was just me." But she wasn't relaxing. If anything, she was even more jittery, and he watched with concern as she took a step back from him. He lowered his hands to brace them on his hips. "What's going on?"

"I..." she licked her lips, nibbling at the lower one again, splitting it further. She moved back another step. She looked like she was ready to bolt any second. She tried again, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the door that lead to her room near the end of the hall. "It..." Ellie started to shake.

He didn't really think about it. If he had, he probably wouldn't have done it. But that look in her eyes, a wild-eyed panic that was so out of character with the calm, pragmatic woman that had woken up just hours earlier; that look had his feet moving. Before she could turn back to him, he held both of her hands in one of his larger ones tightly, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck. His fingers threaded through the honeyed waves as he took a step to the side and planted his back against the wall. Combined with his palm at the nape of her neck, the firm tug he gave on her hands applied enough pressure that she was pulled against his chest, her hands trapped between them. He held her there for several heartbeats as she violently shook, her entire body wracked by tremors.

"Shhh," he soothed, reverting back to the tone he'd used to coax her into the elevator from the rooftop. "I've got you. Nothing's going to happen to you, Ellie, I promise. Shhh."

Unconsciously, or maybe consciously, he wasn't sure, he started to sway a little from side to side, as if dancing, rocking her, and his thumb in her hair mimicked the movement, brushing against her ear with every pass of the digit through the strands. He caught the scent of grass again, sweet and earthy. He watched the door as he waited her out, resting his chin on the top of her head like he had earlier, trying his best to encompass her with his bulky frame. He didn't know what was in that room that scared her this badly, or even if it was just the room. More than likely, it was a combination of being along a new environment, with unfamiliar people, unable to speak the language without help from a piece of metal that she had to trust was what she'd been told it was and, the most probable culprit of all, the fact that the world as she knew it was completely gone.

Frankly, he was surprised she'd held it together as long as she had.

She still wasn't crying, though. He could tell by how she breathed, fast, but even. He kept murmuring to her, not even words, just syllables and soft sounds that seemed to loosen the hold of the emotions that was causing such a harsh, physical reaction. Her fingers curled into tight fists under his, and he was certain that she was digging her short nails into her palms to try and stop the shuddering. It took a good ten minutes before she could bring it under control. Even when they'd subsided to just the occasional shiver, he stilled.

"Better?"

She nodded, her nose brushing against his exposed collarbone. She exhaled and he felt her warm breath ghost across his skin, making the hair on his neck stand up and gooseflesh to race across his shoulders, all the way down his arms. Clearing his throat, he eased her back and slid his hand from her hair to catch her chin. He looked down into her eyes as earnestly as he could.

"If you want me to, I'll come in for a minute and check everything out. Would you like that?"

Again, she nodded, her pupils the size of pinpricks. His eyes narrowed as he watched her swallow hard. For someone who had so pridefully rejected his efforts to comfort her earlier that day, she seemed awfully willing to accept it now. It only reinforced what he'd already known from his own experience. You went back and forth as your brain tried to wrap around everything, all of it so new and frightening and utterly alien. What the hell had those bastards been thinking putting her down here, alone? Hadn't they seen how she reacted in the elevator? Did they just ignore how pale she must have been, how shaky she was? What kind of assholes was Fury hiring? That was a stupid question, and he knew it as soon as it crossed his mind. The kind that never asked questions. Good soldiers. That was when he realized just how right the director had been.

There really was no one else that could understand what she was going through.

Letting her go, he patted her shoulder and started towards the end of the hall, feeling her walk just behind him at a slower place, still clearly reluctant. He reached for the doorknob and glanced over his shoulder to look at her.

"Ready?"

She inhaled sharply.

"No."

He shot her a smile.

"Well, at least you're honest."


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N:_ ****A big thank you to MG and XxAlexMarihaReyesxX for their reviews, and thank you to all of you who've favorited and followed this story. It's been wonderfully encouraging to hear back from the readers! I want to keep going with this story very much, and seeing the support it's starting to build is very reassuring to this insecure author, lol. It's very much appreciated. :)**

**As always, please read and enjoy.**

* * *

He was absolutely unprepared for what was waiting for him behind that door.

Steve fought back the smirk that was threatening to curve his lips, acutely aware of the small, anxious brunette that was right behind him, peeking around his shoulder, her fingers curling tightly into the back of his jacket. Boy, he hoped that she wasn't going to make that a habit. It made him feel like an over-sized teddy bear she was too timid to keep from hiding her face behind.

And from the fleeting glimpses he'd caught of what he thought to be her real personality, timid wasn't even in the ballpark.

Which really made her reactions since waking up all the more disturbing. Kinda funny, sometimes, but mostly disturbing.

He glanced down at her, half-tempted to just pull her around him and set her firmly in front, make her see that there was nothing to be afraid of. He had dismissed the thought as soon as it had occurred to him. Bullying her wasn't going to get them anywhere, and it sure as hell wasn't going to do anything for him other than make him feel like crap. So, he stood in the middle of the doorway, scanning the room for boogeymen while simultaneously keeping an eye on his charge to make sure she didn't try to run for it again.

"I don't see anything," he remarked to her, striding into the room and dragging her behind him.

"It was here," she murmured, almost too softly for him to catch. She pointed around him towards the small black television squatting on the dresser. "It was in that, but then it...moved."

He hummed noncommittally and stepped closer to the television. As he moved, their reflection slid across the screen and he felt Ellie jump behind him with a sharp intake of breath. He tried to hold back a laugh, a snort escaping his nose.

"That's a reflection, Ellie."

He clearly wasn't very successful at hiding his amusement, since she leaned stepped out from behind him, eyes flashing, although they were still wide.

"Re...reflection?"

"Yeah." He stepped towards the television and tapped the thick screen, his nail pinging against the glass. "See? It's like looking into water and you see your own face looking back at you. Nothing that will hurt you."

She looked doubtful, but edged closer to him, curiosity seeming to begin to win over her trepidation.

"But...it...it followed me," she gestured to the closed bathroom door. "It was in there." Then she pointed at the doorknob behind them, frowning. "And it was there, but darker, smaller."

Steve leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

"Reflections do that. That's what makes it a reflection. You move, it moves at the same time. You're looking at yourself moving, see?"

He half-turned and lifted his hand in a small wave. His image in the screen did the same. Then he turned back around and pointed at the door. "Watch." He repeated the motion towards the door as she followed his line of sight.

"I...see," she said, but he thought she still looked uneasy. He waited as she seemed to process this new information, glancing between the television and the door. When she met his eyes, it was with uncertainty. "But...why?"

He frowned at her, lost.

"Why what?"

"Why..." She was quiet for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip, which he figured meant that she was thinking hard about something. She pressed on. "Why is the reflection here?" Her fingertips reached past him to touch the cold smoothness of the t.v. screen hesitantly.

He bit back the groan that was building in his throat, scrubbing a hand across his face. This was going to be the equivalent of going around his elbow to get to his ass. Lifting his head, he rapped his knuckles sharply against the screen.

"We call this a television. When you turn it on, it plays moving pictures."

He scooped up the remote that was resting neatly on the top of the set while gently tugging on the sleeve of her blouse to pull her back a little. He didn't have to look at her to know that she was completely confused, but he forged ahead, hoping that the explanation he had in mind would answer her questions, or at least make her comfortable enough in the room that she wouldn't fly through the door like the hounds of hell were after her every time someone came by. Without warning, an image of Ellie dashing, wide-eyed and flushed into the waiting arms of Nick Fury rose unbidden in his minds eye, and he had to fight himself again to keep from laughing, his lips twitching madly. At her curious glance, he cleared his throat and pressed the red power button on the remote. The screen flickered for a brief moment before bright color burst across its surface. It was a musical from not long after the war. He remembered watching it after Stark, of all people, had recommended it as a 'classic'. Seven Brides or something like that. It had been a pretty entertaining film. He'd enjoyed it, actually, although he'd never admit it to that jackass.

Steve glanced at Ellie from the corner of his eye, watching her watch the screen, her eyes round and her lips parted. She seemed awed, even intrigued, and thankfully, completely unafraid.

"I can't tell you everything about how it works, but, basically, the screen is reflective so that, when you turn on the television, you can see the picture."

As he gestured, she stepped forward, her fingers reaching out and brushing against the vibrant, whirling colors. Couples were line dancing, spinning and smiling as they moved across the unfinished floor of what was eventually going to be a barn. Her other hand came up, fingers curling around the edge of the television as she peered around it, at it's back.

"This are the people within?" she asked, a breathless quality to her voice as her eyes rapidly tried to follow every movement made on the screen.

"No. There's nothing in there but electronics."

She turned around to look back at him quizzically.

"E...elec..tronics?"

He grinned at her, lifting a finger to tap at the base of his throat.

"Yeah, larger versions of what you've got there on your neck. They project the picture up onto the screen there so that you can see it. And these," he moved back towards her, reaching around her arm to flick his finger against the base of the t.v. "These are called speakers. When I touch this button, you can hear the sound of the picture."

He demonstrated, turning up the volume and suddenly the cheerful, fast-paced strains of a guitar, a fiddle, and the stomping feet of the characters burst out of the television, startling Ellie, who jumped back with a squawk of surprise. She couldn't get very far though. As soon as she started to back up, she bumped into Steve, who automatically put his hands on her waist to steady her. She jerked her head back to stare up at him, grey-green eyes wider than he'd seen them yet (and he thought that was a feat in and of itself). He tried, he really tried, not to laugh, but it was just too comical to see her with her legs tangled around themselves, off-balance, and with probably the goofiest mixture of fright and incredulity on her face that he couldn't help it.

It bubbled up from his belly, a rough chuckle rushing past his lips as they curved into a wide grin. Her brows drew together in a fierce scowl, but it only proved to be fuel for the fire. The harder she stared at him, the harder he laughed. She started struggling against him, trying to find her balance again so that she could push off and stand on her own, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but all she could manage was to scrap the slick soles of her still new boots against the cheap carpet. She had no traction, and when she tried to heave herself up and away from him, she only ended up tangling her feet further, pushing more of her slight weight against his chest. He could sworn that her grunt was one of indignation. Still chuckling, Steve tightened his hold around her waist and gently lifted her up.

His amusement faded altogether at how light she felt, and while part of that could be blamed on her small stature, he knew that it had a lot more to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since that afternoon, which was the first meal she'd had in a few centuries. Setting her down on her feet just to the side of him, he ignored her glower, instead asking,

"You hungry?"

She opened her mouth, probably to deny it, but then suddenly shut it with a snap, and nodded.

He leaned down a little closer to her, dipping his head forward to catch her eyes with his. "Are you gonna be alright in here by yourself for a minute?"

Her gaze darted towards the closed bathroom door for a second, and he saw her swallow hard. Then she nodded again, sharply. Patting her shoulder, he moved past her, shutting the door behind him and strode up the hall, his strides long and rapid.

He fished around in the front pockets of his jeans as he took a left into a small vending area, pulling out a few crumbled bills and some change. He fed the money into the machines, pulling out a couple of cokes, some cold sandwiches, and several bags of chips. Junk food, but that might actually be good for her at the moment. Juggling the food stuffs around in his arms, he quickly walked back down the hall, fumbling with the doorknob around one of the soda bottles before managing to open the door, kicking it shut with the heel of his boot.

Ellie was sitting in the middle of her little bed, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, her chin resting comfortably on her right knee. He shot her a crooked smile as he set everything down neatly on the little desk in the corner.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," he commented lightly, watching from the corner of his eye as she shifted a little.

She didn't reply, staring at him when he crossed the room and offered her a simple ham and cheese, along with a cold bottle. Carefully, she reached out and took them from his outstretched hand, eyeing them quizzically. She lowered her knees, then scooted to the edge of the bed. Picking up his own roast beef sandwich, he settled into the desk chair, leaning back and stretching out his long legs. Cradling the chilly drink between her knees, Ellie slowly unwrapped the sandwich, sniffing at it uncertainly. Then she took a tentative nibble.

Steve raised his eyebrows, his roast beef still half wrapped as he watched her. "Does it pass inspection?"

Swallowing, Ellie frowned for a minute, looking down at the sandwich hard before glancing up and nodding slowly.

"It is...good."

"Good," he replied with a smile, then took a huge bite out of his own sandwich.

They ate in relative silence, Ellie eating much slower, as if she felt a need to taste every bite that passed her lips. He could relate. The first meal he'd had after waking up was a twelve-ounce sirloin, three huge helpings of fries, and the biggest bottle of coke he'd ever seen. He'd never eaten so meticulously in his life. Hell, he'd damn near licked the plate. And he still took his time whenever he got his hands on a good bacon cheeseburger.

When she'd finished, he showed her how to open the bag of potato chips. He'd given her a bag of original, figuring it was better to start slow. She'd been hit with a lot over the last couple of hours. Presenting her with the sheer amount of options she could have just concerning food would have probably overwhelmed her, if her reactions so far had been anything to go by. Better to hit her with that later, when she'd had a little more time to adapt.

He wasn't even sure he ever wanted to teach her how to change channels on the television.

That was when a disturbing thought struck him, and he froze, the lip of his coke bottle barely touching his lips. His gaze traveled to the bathroom door, now slightly ajar. From this angle, he could see the simple corner shower, a concrete and tile half-wall rising up on the near side, like ones you'd find in a locker room. The shower head was small, the single tap beneath it a small, clear plastic knob. There was a soap dish in the corner, a thick, white bar still neatly wrapped in its package. His gaze slid to Ellie, who was quietly munching on the potato chips. She had crossed her legs at the ankles, the toes of her left boot scraping lightly against the carpet as she plucked another chip out of the bag.

Was he going to have to-

No...Agent Hill had to have shown her how that worked. She had to. He suddenly swallowed hard and lowered the bottle to rest against his thigh, twisting the cap between the fingers of his other hand.

But what if she hadn't?

A blush started to creep up his cheeks.

She must have. They'd been in that room a long time. Or it had seemed like a long time to him, standing in the hall, watching the minutes crawl by on the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Explaining clothing couldn't have taken up as much time as they had spent in there. Sure, it had been something like a changing room, but there were probably shower stalls in there...somewhere. Steve scowled to himself. Even if she hadn't, he'd just have to ask her to.

Shaking away the discomfort he felt at that turn of thought, he cleared his throat. At the sound, Ellie looked up, one cheek bulging. The sight made him smirk. She dipped her fingers into the bag, coming up with greasy crumbs. She licked her fingers greedily, sucking on each fingertip as her eyes glanced around for another bag. Steve picked one up from the desk and tossed it to her. She caught it deftly, tearing it open quickly and pulling out a handful.

"Nice to see a girl who likes her food."

She tilted her head at him, brows drawing together as she chewed.

"Why would I not?"

He shrugged.

"These days, people seem to have a love-hate relationship with it."

That only made her frown harder.

"Food is food. You eat, you survive. Why would you attach yourself to your meal?"

Steve's smile widened.

"You know, that's a good question." He jerked his chin in the direction of the now empty snack bag. "Done for now?"

She nodded and he got up, taking the sandwich wrapper and crinkled plastic from her hands and depositing them in the waste basket. After demonstrating how to untwist the cap of her soda, he watched her take a sip, chuckling when her expression lit up with pleasure at the taste.

"You like it?" he grinned, his hands on his hips.

She nodded eagerly, taking a long pull of the dark soda before lowering it with a hum of approval.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up at him with bright eyes.

"It's Coca-Cola, but most people just call it 'coke'."

She held the bottle up, squinting at it under the artificial light. "Coke." she repeated, then took another sip.

"Take it easy, now, that stuff tends to wake people up. And you need to go to sleep soon," he cautioned her.

At his words, she exhaled heavily, glancing down at the flat pillow at the end of the bed. Her bottom lip disappeared as she held the bottle loosely between both hands, her thumb absently tracing over the textured patten near its bottom. He was torn between chuckling and sighing himself.

She was so easy to read.

Or maybe, it was just that he knew well enough what she was thinking because he'd had the same.

Steve reached out and touched her arm. "Hey." She turned to look up at him and he tried to keep his voice even and reassuring. "I know it's the last thing you want to do, but...it's really what you need to do." Something flashed behind her eyes then, something he couldn't really put a finger on, but by the way her features tightened, he figured he'd said the wrong thing.

Her next sentence confirmed it.

"I do not need you to tell me what to do." Her voice was cold, colder than the condensation he could feel brushing his knuckle from where his hand hung at his side, his fingers bumping against the coke in her lap.

He gave into the urge to sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, I'm not telling you that because I think you're child that's stayed up too late past her bedtime." Her eyes flashed again and he had to bite back the second exhalation building in his throat. It was like playing a roulette wheel, you just never knew what you were going to get. And he was getting tired of walking on eggshells.

He hadn't been this bad, had he?

Deciding not to answer that question, he sat down on the bed next to her, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs, bowing his head. God, he didn't want to talk to her about this, to anyone, about this...but he needed to. His lips almost quirked; talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

"Ellie...believe it or not, I know what you're going through, what your body's going through." He could almost _feel_ her skepticism, and it made him falter. It wasn't so much that he was worried that she wouldn't believe him.

There was so much that she didn't know, couldn't know, and he'd been there. She would understand, better than anyone, what he'd experienced. He couldn't bullshit her. She would _know_, because she was sitting right there, living the same thing. It was almost like watching himself relive it, except it wasn't in his head, it was right here in front of him, and it was now. The doubts, the low-simmering fear, the acute sense of loss that barely dulled as the months rolled by...the more he thought about it, the closer to the surface it crept. Without even saying anything, just by existing, she was a constant reminder of the hell he thought he'd pretty well put behind him. And she was living it too. So then it became less about the fact that he understood her.

_She would understand him._

And frankly, that scared the hell out of him.

"Do you remember what I told you up on the roof? About seeing the same thing you did when you opened your eyes?" His voice was gruff, more like a rough mutter than anything else. He cleared his throat again. "Well, I did because-"

A touch at his elbow made him inhale sharply, and he jerked his head up to meet her eyes. Her expression was unreadable, but there was an empathetic look in her gaze that made his throat tighten.

"We are the same...are we not, Steve Rogers?" she murmured softly.

He took it back. She already understood.

"Yeah. Yeah, Ellie, we are."


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N_: Hey all! Finally worked back around to this fic! Yayness! Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support of this story, I appreciate it so much! Got a bit more setting up to do in terms of plot, so this chapter might be a little slow, but totally worth it for the surprise I left you all in it *Inserts evil laughter*. Also, some of you might not entirely agree with how I'm portraying SHIELD, but, I'd like to point out that while Fury has a great deal of control over the organization (micro-managing in the extreme), there are likely things that go on that he doesn't always have full information on. Plus, based on his character, both in the films and the comics, I really do think that he is more than capable of doing some very shady things in the name of protection and justice. Just a little aside on why I'm doing some of the things I'm doing. :)**

**With that being said, onwards! As always, please read and enjoy.**

* * *

Steve groaned as his alarm blared in his ear. Blindly, he reached out and popped his fist against the digital clock. Thankfully, the incessant beeping ceased and he rolled onto his back, the coarse blanket tangling around his legs. With concentrated effort, he blinked open his eyes, squinting as the lights automatically snapped on.

"Shit!" he cursed, turning his head away from the harsh illumination and scrubbing a hand over his face. Light stubble itched across his palm and he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He braced his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward and cradling his head in his hands as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Running a hand through his hair he let out a tired breath, his mouth dry. His right knee cracked loudly when he stood up, making him wince as he staggered to the tiny bathroom. The metal tap twisted with a soft squeak, cold watering splashing into the basin as he reached for his toothbrush. He glanced up to the small mirror over the sink, vigorously working the brush over his teeth. Dark circles ringed beneath his eyes. He looked as tired as he felt.

Rinsing swiftly, he reached over and turned on the shower. He and Ellie had been up long into the night, talking. Well, he'd done most of the talking. Stripping out of his white tee, he tossed it into the small clothes hamper behind the door. Mostly, she'd just listened, and nodded occasionally. He hadn't realized until he'd left her room how much he'd actually appreciated that she hadn't said much, or how much better he'd felt by the time he fell into his bunk. And in all honesty, he did feel better. Hell, he'd slept better last night than he had in months. Although, that could as easily be because he had a rock-hard mattress under him again. He never could get used to the soft one in his apartment.

He braced himself for the blast of ice water from the shower nozzle, quickly twisting the knob until the stream started to heat. He bent his head to let the spray pummel the knotted muscles of his shoulders, groaning with relief as the wet heat seemed to melt the tension that had lingered since yesterday. Blindly grabbing the thick bar of soap, he tore off its paper wrapping and tossed it into the waste basket on the other side of the shower's half wall. Lathering it over his chest, his thoughts returned to the conversation they'd had last night.

She had been remarkably open to what he had told her, barely batting an eyelash. Slightly irritated, he'd called her on it, but she'd just shrugged, her lilting voice smooth .

"Considering my own circumstances, how could I find yours any more strange?"

That had been a fairer point then he'd have initially liked to admit. And when he had finally gone back to his own room, he'd found that he couldn't quite let that reluctance go. It nagged at him, making him question why he'd found her acceptance irking. Hadn't he wanted that? To have someone not give him odd looks when he spoke a long disused euphemism or didn't understand a reference. To not judge.

To honestly give a damn.

He watched suds swirl around the drain, a deep frown etching itself across his features. He didn't like this feeling - being unsettled in his own head had never been a positive experience, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on what it was that was bothering him. Maybe he'd been alone too long. Isolated. From friends, he added hastily. Not that he'd been exactly burning both ends of the night, either with friends or...someone special, but it wasn't easy finding people who had the same life experience. His lips twisted in a wry half-smile. There was a conversation opener.

Hi, I'm Steve Rogers, Captain America, one of the Avengers. Due to being trapped in suspended animation under two tons of ice, I'm technically 95 years old. I love running, romantic, candlelit dinners, and constant suicide missions in the service of my country. Nice to meet you.

Oh, yeah. Girls are falling all over themselves.

Although, he mused as he turned off the water and reached for his towel, he wasn't entirely lacking in takers either. Apparently, being a 'superhero' qualified you to have - what did Tony call them - oh, right, groupies. Well, they all had plenty of those, even Bruce; women (and some men, disturbingly enough) who desired the image they projected to the world, the proverbial notch on their belts. Steve snorted as he vigorously scrubbed over his sandy hair. No thanks.

He was willing to admit that he was as pretty forward-thinking when it came to most things, but that was one area of his life where he was stubbornly old-fashioned. Not that he was opposed to letting off steam, although he really did believe there were better ways to go about it. Attitudes were so different now, but he felt like he'd been able to keep up fairly well, particularly in that department. Not...in terms of experience, per se, but at least in his viewpoints. And honestly, it wasn't like it didn't happen in his own time. It did, people just weren't as open and casual about it.

And if he wanted to make that argument convincing, especially in his own head, then he probably should stop referring to sex as 'it', he thought dryly, wrapping the towel loosely around his waist.

It wasn't like he wasn't interested, because as a healthy human male, he most definitely was, but shouldn't there be some kind of mutual attraction that was beyond the physical first? Hell, if you needed to get off, that was one of the many reasons God gave us all two hands with opposable thumbs. Sex shouldn't be about that anyway.

And how the hell had his mind gone from thinking about Ellie to philosophizing about sex?

Probably best not to try too hard and answer that question.

Steve stepped back to the sink and opened the small medicine cabinet behind the mirror, reaching for his simple straight razor and a can of shaving cream. His motions were automatic, muscle memory kicking in as his mind wandered.

What was he going to do with her?

A better one: what was SHIELD ultimately going to do with her? It wasn't the first time that question had occurred to him, and it was unlikely that it would be the last. And that was because he didn't have a good answer. In his gut, he was almost positive that as long as she proved useful in some shape or form, they'd keep her, and they'd keep her well underground, literally. Fury was a man of his word, and Steve knew that he would let Ellie out when the time came, but if he could have gotten away with it, none of the Avengers would have ever seen the light of day. So where would that have left her if Steve hadn't been the one to first speak with her?

No where pleasant, he knew that. She would have been strapped down and tested until her throat was raw from the screaming. His grip on his razor tightened as he smoothed the blades over his foamy skin. And the truly awful aspect of that was that it would have been in the name of the common good - assessing a threat before it even became one. Until she would have been able to prove otherwise, she would have been considered less than human, cut off from all contact to prevent any chance of corruption or escape. And then she would have been given a choice, the first and only one ever provided her.

Serve or die.

He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth when the razor caught on the curve of his chin, nicking himself. He finished up quickly and ran the cold tap, splashing water over his face before grabbing the small bottle of aftershave lotion.

Maybe he was exaggerating how extreme her circumstances might have been, but if she didn't serve, then she would have been seen as something much too hazardous to roam as she pleased. At the very least, she would have been deemed unfit for integration into society, and kept in some sort of confinement. For her own good, she'd have been told. She was still looking at that possibility. His opinion would carry some weight in regards to that decision, but not nearly as much as Fury's. He was going to be the one that needed the most convincing, outside of Ellie herself. She might not see herself as much of anything, but if she ever grasped just how important she was right now, to science, to history, to the military...well, people who come to realize that they hold that kind of power usually go one of two ways. He seriously doubted that she was foolish or naive enough to dig her own grave, but all the same…

This was getting him nowhere.

Letting out a heavy breath, Steve patted his face dry with the small washcloth that hung next to the basin, folding it back over its perch neatly, then turning on his heel. He strode through the open door, tightening the knot that held the towel up around his waist as he moved to the dresser.

He had just opened the drawer when a soft, feminine voice behind him nearly made his heart burst out of his chest.

"I thought you said sheets were not meant to be worn as clothing."

Steve spun around so fast, his feet got tangled up and he slammed back into the dresser with a grunt, the edge thudding painfully into his mid back. The occupant of his thoughts was currently sitting cross-legged in the middle of his unmade bed, wearing baggy, clay-colored cargo pants and a deep purple tank top, its thick straps completely swallowing her shoulders, but left the entire length of her arms bare. Her tattoos curled beneath the fabric, disappearing beneath the cotton only to sweep up and out from underneath, twisting up her neck. They extended down, in the opposite direction as well, spiraling down and over her leanly muscled biceps. In an idle flash of odd, startled salience, he considered just how far those markings went.

Snapping out of it, he cleared his throat pointedly, minutely pleased that his voice didn't sound nearly as strained as he actually felt. "I also said that you were supposed to knock before entering someone else's room. Matter of fact, I said that right before I left yours last night."

She didn't even blink. "I did, twice. There was no answer that I could hear." By her tone, he could tell that she thought it was obvious that meant she could come in. Well, at least she hadn't walked into the bathroom.

"Next time, how about wait for an answer. Some people might not appreciate it if you walk in on them wearing nothing but a towel."

He'd meant that to sound light and a little teasing, but the way she tilted her head at him made him think she was taking it to heart. Not that it was bad advice, really, but sometimes her seriousness really threw him. As out of time as he had been, he at least knew, for the most part, when someone was joking with him. Thankfully, he didn't have to explain because she simply nodded to him once before lifting her hands from her lap. That was when he noticed that she had been holding a pair of dark converse sneakers, their laces hanging droopily.

"I did not know how to put them on. They do not fit as well as the boots, but the woman who brought me these clothes said not to wear the boots and left before I could ask her how to work these," she said, a mixture of childish matter-of-factness and very adult exasperation lacing her words.

He gestured with his thumb to the dresser drawers behind him. "Let me get dressed and I'll show you what to do, alright?"

She nodded again and let the shoes drop back into her lap. Feeling entirely too self-conscious, especially since he could sense her eyes staring holes in his back, Steve blindly dug into each drawer, snatching out clothing before walking hurriedly (although not with too long a stride so that his cotton shield stayed in place) back into the bathroom and shutting the door. He tossed on his clothes, a plain blue tee that he covered with a darker blue flannel button down shirt, and jeans, never more grateful in his life that the army had trained his inherent messiness out of him. He really didn't know how he would have reacted if she'd been poking through underwear that he'd carelessly left strewn around the room. And she would have to. The woman had a curiosity streak the size of the Grand Canyon, and apparently no sense of privacy either.

That was going to be so much fun to explain.

For another day, though. Right now, he had a much more basic lesson plan to teach: showing her how to tie her shoes.

* * *

It was still dark, and raining heavily when the plane landed. She didn't mind. It certainly made the recurrent ritual of covering her trail much easier.

Keeping an eye on the rooftops on each side of the street, Agent Romanoff, slipped fluidly between the milling pedestrians that still completely fill New York's streets. Not all that surprising. It was only a little after midnight, and she was close to the heart of Manhattan. She sidestepped a large chunk of debris that had sunk halfway into the sidewalk with a slight grimace. You'd think that after nearly a year, they'd have gotten most of wreckage up and out of the way, but even with round the clock crews, there was more than they could manage. They hadn't even started repairing the craters left behind by the Chitauri fleet had left behind, from their guns and their ships and their Leviathans.

She pulled her hoodie tighter over her hair and slipped her sunglasses just a bit higher on the bridge of her nose. Nothing but reminders here. She hated the reminders, each one as blatant as a tombstone. Monuments to the Avengers' failures in the face of their victory.

And a temporary one at best. The Chitauri would be back, and if she didn't miss her guess, Loki would be too. She prided herself on never missing.

Hawkeye wouldn't have allowed it.

Clint…

She shook the thoughts off like raindrops, curling her tongue behind her teeth as she stepped up to the edge of a busy crosswalk. Less than a block now. The light turned and she trotted across the wide white painted bands that lead to the opposite street. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she casually glanced up again, a long-ingrained habit. Humans, as a rule, rarely if ever looked up. The high ground was the best position for more than one reason, she thought with a smirk.

Nothing, but she'd expected that.

Sidling behind a group of gawking tourists, she lingered at the edge of their large gaggle. None of them noticed, either when she ghosted between them or when she abruptly turned right, slinking into a narrow crevice between a slimy brick wall and a hulking green dumpster. She waited a couple of heartbeats, slipping her glasses into an inner pocket of her jacket. Most people probably would have immediately started gagging at the stench surrounding her, but her nose barely wrinkled. Still smelled better than the streets she'd grown up on.

Spinning on her heel, she eased out from her concealed spot and started up the alley. Her gaze roved back and forth before she nodded silently to herself. This was it.

She stopped, dropping into a crouch next to another massive dumpster, faint brown staining lining its bottom. It looked like rust, but the pattern was wrong - too linear, too neat. Last of the blood trace. She didn't touch it, instead turning her attention to the patch of asphalt right in front of her. At first glance, there was nothing to find. Bits of trash that had tumbled out of bags or been tossed out by homeless looking for something to eat, actual plastic bags brimming with refuse, a couple slats from a pallet. Nothing to look at, really. Unless you'd seen the body, you'd probably never know this has been where someone had died. Reminded her of hotel rooms, actually. If people actually knew just how many had been killed or killed themselves in those pristine little cubicles of home-away-from-homes, well-

Something was off, though. Really, off. She could feel it, in her bones, like a tug in her gut or like a vibration. Something pulling at her, trying to catch her eye.

She caught it.

Whipping out her cellphone, she pressed a button and lifted it to her ear. It rang once.

"Fury."

Her lips quirked. "You were right." She glanced down. "Definitely homicide. And I think you're going to want to see this."


End file.
